The Guy Next Door
by Little-Firestar84
Summary: AU- In a world where it wasn't Red John to take away Jane's family, Patrick and Teresa still meet; but what happens when she is a workaholic CBI agent, set on her career, and he is her nosy, loud and handsome new neighbor? Will spark fly, and what will they need to heal their old wounds? Written for the Mentalist BigBang, with cover and beta-reading byKathiann Superwoman 1015.
1. Chapter 1

Written for the Mentalist Big Bang on livejournal. Many thanks to the wonderful **kathiann** superwoman1015 who provided the wonderful cover and betaed this story.

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He was doing it-again.

Since Teresa Lisbon had moved into what was supposed to be a quiet apartment, the guy next door had never stopped hammering, sawing, pounding and God knew what else. All that hubbub prevented her from concentrating: couldn't that bumpkin understand that, on the weekend, people deserved some quiet?

Not that she was actually planning to enjoy some free time, she thought sighing, trying to block out the noise.

Just the day before, ADA Oscar Ardilles had informed her that the trial against former sheriff Thomas McAllister –aka serial killer Red John – had been moved up to the middle of the following week due to death threats to the murderer. That meant that Lisbon had to review her case-file, knowing it words for words, and prepare her testimony. Ardilles had even given her a list of question that "the shark" – Daniel Stark, McAllister's defense attorney- could ask, given his style of defense. She wanted to be ready for everything: the last thing she wanted was to be the one who had arrested (almost dying in the process) the killer who had terrorized California, Mexico and Nevada for over 20 years, and then do some mistake that resulted in him being released.

No, she thought, pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes. She had worked too much to get the man. She was going to see him behind bars- for all the victims of the killer, and also, yes, for her. She liked this job at the CBI, and she wanted to have a career there. And this case could open so many doors for her that….

_Bang!_

She shrieked like a little girl at the noise coming from the apartment next door. She fisted her hands, feeling the rage raise. What the hell was that _man_ doing in his apartment, tearing down the walls? God, she didn't know what to do any longer about _him. _She had really tried to be nice, putting note after note underneath his door, asking, begging him to stop whatever he was doing, even if just for a short while. But he had kept on; just the previous day she had left him the latest note, threatening to report him at the following condo board meeting. She had hoped that it would be enough, and yet… Well, the next meeting was going to be in just a few days. And then, he would _have _to stop making all that noise all day long!

She tied her hair in a slightly less messy ponytail, and taking big breaths to control her anger; she left her apartment and took the few steps that divided her from the guy's door. She didn't know if she was supposed to sigh or grunt out of frustration: she didn't want to have to move _again; _she had moved here less than a year before, and in the last two months, since that _man _had moved there, her life had turned into a nightmare. She had always loved the tranquility of her few rooms, but now she dreaded the moments when she wasn't on the job, busy arresting perps of any kind.

It was a real shame, because she liked her condominium; the huge, rich mansion that had generated the tiny apartments had been originally built in the 20s, and it narrated stories of the Old World, a lost aristocracy and Al Capone-like gangsters. Whoever had fractioned the house into apartments had even kept the space as close as possible to what it used to be. In her bedroom, she even had a huge hanging chandelier.

When she reached his apartment, she felt as mad with him as never before; that man had no respect whatsoever; in front of his door the noise was intolerable. She couldn't understand how _he _could live like that, let alone the other tenants. She lifted her closed fist one, two, and three times, looking for the strength to just knock on his door and get it done. That wasn't how she had planned her first conversation with the guy. To be honest, she hadn't planned to talk with him at all. Fifteen years before she had left Chicago and moved to another big City far away from her own, knowing too well that in Sacramento there were chances that she could go on months- if not years- without saying as much as hello to the people around her. It wasn't like she was anti-social, but she wanted to be the one deciding who she was supposed to be social with. Besides, her work took away enough energy and was time-consuming, and at the end of the day- and on the weekend in particular- she rarely felt like partying or going out. She didn't even know the guy's name; she was aware that his name started with P, and his last name was Jane, and only because she had seen it written on the doorbell.

The noise started again, and Teresa closed her eyes, willing herself to forget the past. That noise, it sounded too much like her father when he almost demolished their small apartment back in Chicago, after her mom's death. Her whole body went rigid, and she clenched her teeth, shaking her head. She couldn't think like that: she had moved to California to forget the past, that part of her life she wished had never happened to begin with. Now wasn't the time to dwell on it. She had allowed herself to think about her dad only when she had to remind herself that he was the reason she was there, if she had made a name for herself, it was for her need to escape him, prove him wrong.

_Bang! Bang!_

Every hit reverberated through her whole being, making her angrier and angrier. Now it was as clear as a day that Mr. Jane was going to get her five cents at the next meeting. Shaking her head, she put on her best cop attitude, and finally, she knocked at his door. He hit the wall with what she could only assume was a hammer, and Teresa decided that he wasn't going to win it that easily; she knocked at the door, again and again, with much more strength this time.

"Mister Jane!" she shrieked.

"Yeah, yeah, I am coming, just give me a minute!"

About time! Crossing her arms, Lisbon cleared her throat, ready to remind Mr. Jane that he wasn't the only one living in the building. But then, he opened the door, and the words died in her throat when she saw the sexiest man she had ever laid eyes on. Defining him as "beautiful" was ridiculous; his physique wasn't properly masculine, and yet she felt like in that instant, with the stubble and the worn-out jeans and the plaid shirt covered with dust, he was the very incarnation of the word "man". Maybe it was also because of the eyes, mischievous and questioning, like the ones of a detective or a reporter, that gave him personality. And… well, she wasn't going to lie- she was a woman, after all, who liked her man. And that man had the most amazing blonde curls she was already dying to run her fingers through and eyes as the color of the ocean, neither green nor blue. He was slightly tanned- natural, she noticed- and had a nice chest, good biceps. She slurped down a mouthful of saliva. He was her annoying neighbor: she wasn't supposed to think about grabbing those muscles.

Then, as her eyes traveled south, she saw that he had a hammer in his right hand, and she remember why she was there. She lifted her chin, ready to speak her mind.

"Mister Jane…" she started, but he stopped her, leaning against the doorframe, that mischievous expression back in his eyes. She felt his eyes on her as he asked out loud who was interesting in talking with him, and his eyes traveled the length of her body. The shameless bastard was checking her out, and if he thought that his good look and his charm were going to stop her, well, he was wrong. She had learned to deal with men like him a long time before.

"I'm Teresa Lisbon; we live on the same floor."

His eyes went back to her eyes, and his whole demeanor changed. Teresa grinned satisfied, feeling a little bit victorious: he remembered her. "Ah, yes; you must be the nice lady who leaves notes underneath my door. How may I serve today, Mrs. Lisbon?"

"_Miss _Lisbon", she clarified, blushing, unsure why she had felt compelled to let him know she was available. Well, sort of.

Jane chuckled shamelessly, crossing his arms on his wide chest, the hammer still firmly in his right hand. "So, _Miss Lisbon_, what can I do for you?"

_Miss Lisbon_ felt very much like behaving like a kid in that moment, because surely he was doing the same. He was acting innocent and oblivious, but she was sure that he knew what she wanted. "You've been making a lot of noise, lately."

"I'm installing a claw-foot tub." He explained. He was looking at her with a strange expression, like to say. _So, what?_

"Well, I am happy for you" Teresa sarcastically started, and he grunted. Apparently, he too believed that sarcasm was the lowest form of wit, like her younger brother. "But I am preparing my testimony for an important case and…"

"A testimony?" he asked, shocked, looking at her as he came closer and closer. "What are you, a lawyer?"

"No, I am not a lawyer" she looked at him, her eyes suddenly filled with rage. He was just like any other man she had ever met in her life. Because she was a woman and petite, they didn't believe she could be a cop. "I am a detective with the California Bureau of Investigation, _sir."_

"Well, I am happy for you" He quoted her like a parrot, clearly unimpressed. His voice was dripping sarcasm- she hated when men thought less of her because of her gender. "Again: what can I do for you?"

Really, she wondered, lifting her eyebrows. She thought she had been quite clear. "I was wondering if you could be a little quieter. I can't concentrate with all that noise."

He chuckled, looking at her like she was a silly girl playing make-believe, a silly blonde (and she was a brunette) who didn't know a thing about life. "Miss Lisbon… hammering is, by definition, a noisy activity. Sorry, I don't think I can do it softly."

She clenched her teeth, looking at his eyes. She recognized how he sounded, how he looked. He wasn't taking her seriously. She stood, fiery, and looked into those green-blue eyes, and yet, she felt immediately like all the energy was leaving her. He was too much, towering over her by over twenty cm. "I asked you already man, _many _times to make less noise…"

He tsk-tsked, shaking his right index. "No, you put note after note underneath my door _demanding _that I stopped making noises. You didn't ask me anything."

"Oh, really? Then I'll ask you now: could you please make less noise?"

He chuckled. Again. "Sorry, can't do. As I already told you, I am redoing my bathroom, and in case you didn't know what I mean…"

"OF COURSE THAT I KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN!" She screamed. She had never been too patient with strangers, but this man was eating away all her control.

He checked her out. "Uhm, no, I don't think you know what I mean, but," he said, lifting his eyes to her face. "Maybe I could show you. Or you could help me. Hammering can be… cathartic." He rolled the last word on his lips, biting and licking them unconsciously for emphasis. Teresa went hot and cold in the span of a second: was he flirting with her, seriously? Her eyes fixed on his chest, on his muscled arms.

"I… have a lot of work to do."

"Me too." he answered, and suddenly his whole demeanor changed. "And it's Saturday afternoon, not night, and I think it's acceptable to redo my apartment in the weekend. If the noise gets to you, you and your reports can always leave."

She felt like acting childish again and stomp her feet on the ground-after all, he was doing the same – because yes, she knew he had a point. She could always go back to HQ, but why? She had a home, and she didn't want to live according to others' exigencies, God knew if she hadn't done it enough in the past. If she wanted to stay at home, in her extremely expensive apartment… she was going to do exactly that.

"I could have accepted a couple of days, but you've been going at it for months, Mister Jane, months!"

He looked at her again with the condescended look, like she was just a silly girl who knew nothing about the world. He probably imagined she was a daddy's girl, or the mistress of some rich guy to be able to afford such a place, but she wasn't. She had worked a lot, and hard, to get where she was. She wasn't stupid- she was young and had her own unit back at the CBI.

"Miss Lisbon, I am redoing the whole apartment. Do you understand what kind of work we are talking about?"

Teresa felt like slapping him. She hated how he was behaving, avoiding the issues and a direct confrontation. "And what about the other tenants, what can you tell me about them?" She grinned satisfied. There was just no way that she had been the only one to talk to him about what he was doing.

"Sorry, but you've been the only one with something to say." Oh, how she hated that smug smile of his. She felt like kissing- no, nope, slapping it away from his face. He was her devious neighbor: she wasn't supposed to have steamy thoughts about him, just because he was sexy and hot and…

She shook her head: it was time to stop it.

"Mister Jane" she said, with her most authoritative voice. "If you don't desist, I'll have to talk to the manager."

He chuckled. _Again. _Couldn't he be serious, or scared, like all the other men on the planet? He put his hands in the pockets of the jeans, leaning against the doorframe, showing off his sensuality. "Right. We wouldn't want the manager getting involved. Why, wait a second…" he paused for effect, his eyes filled with mirth. "Now that I think about it… the owners voted _me _as the manager. Do you think this is the reason no one had said anything yet?"

She remained open mouthed, unable to process fully what he had just said. It couldn't be possible: she had hoped to have the administrator as her ally, and now she discovered that her enemy was the man in charge.

"Ok, now… I think I'll get back at my tub… so… goodbye." He closed the door in her face, without waiting for her to answer him. Teresa shook her head, and only when she heard the sound of hammer once again, she returned fully to reality.

"But… but I have work to do!"

And then, the sound stopped, and when she was already leaving with a smile on her lips, the door opened once again, with Mister Jane smiling at her, charming and sexy. She felt like one of those cool girls at school, like one of the cheerleaders, finally getting the attention of the hot quarterback. Maybe she could not like him so much, but it felt good to have the attention of such a sexy man.

"Miss Lisbon, to repay you of all the troubles, I have something for you." Once said that, he left in her hand a pair of earphones "I think you'll need them." And few seconds after he had closed the door, he started again to hammer- this time, singing at loud along to some imaginary tune.


	2. Chapter 2

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"You said no? Seriously?" Jane sighed and drank another bit of tea, grimacing. He was a bit of snob when it came to eggs and tea, but his (former) brother-in-law, Danny, had insisted on catching up, and tea was the only kind of beverage Jane still drank, especially in an establishment such as the bar Danny had chosen to meet him. He decided to put aside (for now) the cup, pretending to play with the spoon and the semi-cold liquid. It was a good way of distracting himself, both from the baseball game Danny had probably bet money on, and the conversation with the younger man himself. Jane wasn't liking his tone, but he knew the boy meant well, deep down.

"Ok, Paddy, let's hear, what crime the LAPD was guilty of?" Danny blocked out the game (a clear indication he had probably bet on the losing team) and concentrated again on his former "relative". He shook his head, a bit disappointed. Some days- the majority of them, actually- he didn't know what to do with Patrick Jane. Or how the hell his sister had managed to put out with him for over ten years.

"The assistant chief called me a psych." He said, and then, whispered "And he was serious. He is into that stuff."

"Right, because you never passed as a psychic before…" Danny mumbled, more between himself than to Jane. But he knew it wasn't going to matter anyway; Patrick Jane wasn't completely normal, and he had probably read his lips or whatever.

"Danny, he is the assistant chief of the biggest police force of the world- _the world_, Danny" he repeated, underlining the word for meaning and emphasis. "And he believes in psychs."

Danny closed his eyes, sighing. "Yeah. And maybe he even goes to church. Ehy, you know what? You should call his boss and get him arrested. Throw away the key of his cell, too." He commented, not bothering to add- again, and to his face- that until a couple of years before Jane would have accepted the job in a heartbeat, psychic or no psychic. Actually, he would have insisted to be called a psych. After all, it was how he had made up his name, earned his fortune.

"There are people around here who have principles, Danny." Jane retorted, and Danny lifted his eyebrows. They were almost reaching his hairline, because, frankly, Jane was being an idiot, and, on top of that, a hypocrite. "Having principles is a good thing. And I may have developed them later in my life, but I think" he said, moving his hands, a well-known trick from his carnie days to deviate the attention of his audience. "I think that it's better late than never."

Danny sighed and almost threw his head on the table. First, Jane was trying to use his tricks with him- which showed how desperate and pathetic he was – and then, he was being unreasonable. "Ok, principles, all right, I get it. But it's one thing to have principles, and another thing is to believe that you are Prince Charming ready to ride on his white stallion towards the sunset."

This time, it was Jane's turn to lift his eyebrows. Danny tended to bring horses in every now and then, because of a secret fantasy he had always had since childhood; unfortunately, he tended to make expressions up, or use them as he saw fit- and almost always, out of context.

"I mean you can't refuse jobs. It's starting to feel like you are making some twisted kind of nasty joke of yourself."

Jane sighed, suddenly sad, filled by a rage that had almost consumed him to the point of death in the last two years. He knew what Danny was talking about, success and fame and money, what they had been both raised to reach. And Jane, a long time before he had had it all- and yet, they hadn't helped him.

"I am ok right now." He grunted, crossing his arms, tea forgotten. Even as a plaything, it had outlived its purpose.

"Listen, I understand if you tell me you want a different life, different approach, or whatever. But," Danny said, his voice low, his eyes almost tender. "You have to _survive."_

"I have enough to last a couple of lifetimes. Worst case scenario, I'll sell my vintage car collection." He paused, wondering if it was wise to order another cup of tea, just to decide against it. "Besides, this new place I am putting back in order, I think I'll sell it once it will be ready. Market's coming around, after all. And one day, I'll find the right job. It has always happened so far. It will happen again."

"If you keep refusing job offers, word will spread, and people will stop calling you. And then, when you will run out of jobs, what will you do? Renovate apartments? Or hope that your charm will save you once again?"

"My charm never failed me, Danny Boy." he chuckled, shamelessly. It was true. He had enchanted men and women alike, even if in the past, he had rarely used seduction – of the mind, of course – to get jobs. His name and his closed-case ratio had always been enough.

Danny sighed, lowering his head. Jane imagined that the boy wanted to say something in the lines of "you are supposed to think about the future", but he kept it quiet. Danny had probably understood by now that Jane wasn't ready to get back in the field. He probably would have never had. Jane knew that Danny meant well, but he couldn't understand Jane had changed too much in the last years. There was no turning back: Jane had come to despise too much what he used to be.

"Paddy…it's been two years already…" Danny murmured in a low tone.

"Two years, four months, three weeks and a handful of days." Jane specified. He couldn't understand Danny. He should have been the one to get it, among all the others. How could Danny believe that, just because it had been over two years, Jane could return to the man he had once been? Angela had wanted more out of life- and he was going to give her that, even if now it was too late for her to witness it.

"Annie would have wanted you to…" Danny started, referring to his late sister with the nickname had forged for her as a kid, when he couldn't spell Angela or Angie properly.

"Don't!" Jane jumped, standing, feeling the familiar rage and guilt re-emerge. He knew what Angela had wanted when they had last spoken that morning, but her last words had been forever denied to her husband: because of that job Danny wanted for him to get back in, because of the money and the fame, he hadn't answered his phone, allowed it to go to voicemail. And because of that, now she and their daughter weren't any longer. "Can we change subject? Please?"

Jane had lowered his eyes and spoke the word that Danny had so rarely heard leaving his lips; it was time to let it go, now. It was starting to become too painful, and even if he had hated Jane at the beginning, he had also been the rational one, the one who knew that, even if Jane would have answered the call, nothing would have changed in the end.

The remained quiet for a while, Jane again playing with his tea and Danny looking at the screen, lost in the game – his team was winning now, it seemed- and then, Jane cleared his throat. Blushing a little, he showed off an insecurity Danny didn't knew his brother-in-law possessed.

"The other day I met my neighbor." He casually said. He didn't know if he just wanted to get Danny to switch topic or get the man's attention on this particular subject.

"The woman who put notes underneath your door?" Danny asked with nonchalance, his eyes every now and then on the game; Jane nodded, forgetting that he wasn't supposed to drink his tea. He grimaced, and put it as far away from him as possible. "Who is she?"

"She's someone who casually uses words such as "cease" and desist". What do you think?"

Danny took a big breath, and chuckled. Jane saw that he was doing his best to avoid laughing out loud, and he didn't dare to think what thoughts were running through the boy's sordid mind. "She sounds like my grandmother."

"I know." Jane chuckled, agreeing for once. Both Mrs. Katherine Anne Ruskin and his neighbor were snobs who liked a refined language, but _Miss _Lisbon was a lot younger and a sight for sore eyes. He could still remember her, with her dark hair fanning her face, with her "I need to work" attitude. Like work was the only thing important in life… she looked a lot like of his teachers, a stern woman who also happened to be a hot little number.

"So, you don't get along too well…" Danny said, and Jane chuckled again, with a faraway look in his eyes. Danny was almost positive of the meaning, but he didn't know if he was supposed to be happy or mad about this sudden new development. "You don't get along too well, right?"

Jane suddenly returned to Earth, and it took him one moment to remember what they were talking about –_whom – _and once done, he blushed, trying to put on his best act. He didn't like that he had been thinking about Miss Lisbon, and in such a way. It was… disrespectful and inappropriate.

"Well, she doesn't get along with me, that's for sure. The other day we parted on her promise to sue me in front of the condo corporate meeting. Of course, she decided against it when I informed her that_ I am _the manager, but, you know…" Jane did again that thing with his hands, and Danny felt like slapping him. He wasn't a child or an idiot, and he didn't resent the older man for what had happened to Angela and Charlotte.

"Man, I knew that one day your charm would fail you, but to be a fiasco with a woman…" he shook his head with mirth, almost giving himself a high-five for the satisfaction. When they had been younger and women flirted with Patrick, the older man had always made fun of the kid who was always rejected in favor of the more handsome man. "Oh, how low the mighty have fallen…"

"She isn't my type" Jane murmured, even if it wasn't completely true. He had never had a "type", blondes, like Angela, or brunette like Miss Lisbon, it had never been an issue. But Teresa was too controlled and strict, self-centered and… and too much like he had been until Angela's death.

"_Here you are!"_ A woman hissed at his back, and when he turned, his eyes fell on Miss Lisbon's frame, and the body he had thought about until a moment before, clad in jog wear. She was crossing her arms, her eyes like fire, showing off her rage. Danny laughed behind his teeth as he guessed, correctly, who the woman was: Jane was definitely not charming this little number.

"The water, Mister Jane," She accused him, thundering. "I want it back."

Jane didn't understand immediately what she was talking about, he was too lost in those flaming eyes and her full -kissable –lips, and he felt the need to reach out and run his hands through her messy curls, free from the restraint of the ponytail she had the last time they met. He wanted to sigh and grunt, hide somewhere and cry. After Angela, he had never desired another woman, and now, here she was, Teresa Lisbon. The same women he had just said wasn't his type.

Oh, god. What an idiot.

"So?" she repeated, never stopping looking at Jane. "When will I get my water back?"

"Get back what, when?" he asked, distracted by her eyes. They were green, but shifting in nuance, from forest to sea green according to the light and her mood. He hadn't noticed them the other day.

"Mister Jane, I'd like for you to stop looking at me like I have two heads, and focus on my face instead of my body," Teresa said, controlled and taking a big breath. "There's no water in my apartment. I imagine that you turned it off when you installed your tub. Now, as it seems you are done with your job" she said, looking at Danny and at the turquoise cup of tea on the table. "I'd be grateful if you could turn it on now. I need to take a shower. I _really _need it."

Jane didn't think so; she was perfect, and wanted to tell her that messy women made perfect lovers, but thought against it. Danny was there, and Miss Lisbon wouldn't have appreciated the compliment- she would have probably reported him for sexual harassment, actually.

"Sorry, can't do." He said, quoting one of the first sentences he had said to her.

"Why?" she asked, sighing, closing her eyes. Her long lashes were fanning her rosy cheeks, making her look like a sexy Snow White.

"I didn't turn off the water." He looked around conspicuously, and lowering his voice he whispered, "Are you sure you paid your bill?"

And here it was, that fire again. "I _always _pay my bills!" she screamed on top of her lungs.

He lifted his arms, in mock surrender, and at his back, Danny was laughing like a maniac. He was already crazy for that woman- and the healthy effect she had on Jane. Seriously, they behaved like an old married couple more than Jane and Angela ever did.

"Mister Jane, I understand that some people appreciate humor… but right now I am not one of them." She rolled her eyes, sniffing like a child who just had their candy stolen by a bully. For a womanizer and gentleman (on occasions) like Jane, it was impossible to resist her. "I had a really long day, between the office and tackling a guy twice my size… I just wanted to take a long, relaxing shower and take some pity on my sore muscles…"

Jane grunted. That wasn't an image he wanted in his head, Teresa Lisbon naked, or struggling underneath a male body… he couldn't understand why men found lady cops intimidating. They were hot. _She _was hot.

"Miss Lisbon, I'd like to help you, but I just turned off my water to work on the tub… I fear that if you'll want to take a shower, you'll either have to wait for a specialist, or beg someone for mercy." When he said the words, he smiled a cat got the canary smile at her, who blushed, feeling his words filled with an innuendo that wasn't lost on her. And he hadn't meant to make it sound so dirty or proposition to her.

"You know, technically this is your work, I think." Danny said, drinking a sip of his warm beer. That place was horrible –he wasn't going to step back into that bar ever again. With the bottle stopped in mid-air, both Jane and Lisbon turned to look at him with a questioning expression. "Well, Pad… Patrick," he corrected himself before the brunette Patrick was hot for heard the hated nickname. "is the manager. Isn't it in your job description to make sure everything in the building is in working order?"

A sly grin started to appear on Lisbon's lips, and Jane immediately stood, shaking his head, no. He wasn't going to go along with Danny's plan. Jane didn't want to start to date, sleep around, or have a relationship. Not now- and especially not with the fiery brunette, and if she dared to ask such a thing to him after having left threatening notes underneath his door for over a month and having accused him of having turned off her water, she was wrong.

"Ok, listen, I have to make sure that everything is in working order only in the common areas of the building, and before you could say anything, Miss I know the law…" he said, turning to her and pointing a finger at the brunette. "No, your plumbing is _not _a common area."

Teresa grinned, rolling her shoulders in defeat , and without adding anything, she turned on her heels, and made her way towards the door, when, suddenly, she felt a big, strong, callous hand grabbing her wrist and forcing her to turn; before her, there was "Patrick", who looked at her like he didn't know what to do with her, or, strange, with himself. He seemed unsure, kind of lost, but it didn't do anything but add to his charm, to his character. When he spoke, his voice was low, defeated, and she didn't understand why.

"I'll give it a look." He said, finally, after a long time of silence passed between the two of them. "Just to see what you'll have to tell the plumbers."

"If I'm not disturbing you…" she answered, pouting a little like an innocent little child. He grunted as he followed her out of the bar. Yes, he was disturbed- but not because of what she was asking him to do. But of what she had awoke in him- something he had believed to had been long buried, along with his late wife.

As they walked towards home-and the plumber-Teresa wondered what she was supposed to do of Jane. On one side, she thought there hadn't been a real need of asking him to help her out with her hydraulic issues, as it was the minimum he could do after all the troubles he had caused her in the last months; but Teresa also knew that she had sounded like a maniac when she had accused him of having turned off her water. Looking like a manic, being so out of control and pathetic had never been her objective, it just wasn't her- not any longer, at least. But, in her defense, Jane had been looking for a fight. He had started the war, slamming the door in her face few days before, AFTER having been all sexy and charming. And now…she had had two terrible days, she was tired and stressed and sweaty, and if she wanted to be mean, so be it- she was allowed to.

And then, there was the other problem, his eyes.

Those eyes that weren't leaving her body, eyes she couldn't see, but felt lingering on her body, on the shape the thin nylon of her sport clothes underlined; she had walked past many people on her way there, and yet, she hadn't given it a second thought. But, not one of the people who had looked at her had been _him, _her sexy, handsome neighbor who…

She sighed as he walked past her, her eyes going to his arms, and then his hands. On his left, he wore a simple wedding band, yellow gold old with many years. He was married- and yet, she had never heard of a Mrs. Jane. He apparently lived alone. Why? Was he divorced or a widow? Or maybe his work was buying old apartments and renovating them, and he had moved in the building just for a short while, and his wife was back home-wherever home could be- with an army of children. She scolded herself. She wasn't supposed to think about him in such a way.

When they reached the boiler room, she felt like suffocating. It was too hot, too dark in there, and yet, Jane walked in the tiny room like he knew every step, every corner. A spider's web skimmed over her skin, and she almost screamed like a child out of fear and disgust. Meanwhile, Jane had reached the plumbing, and was carefully inspecting her section; he hummed, and then, even in the dark, she could see his smile again, that cat got the canary expression she was already familiar with.

"There's a broken valve." He paused, and then, he turned to look at her. Teresa had moved from her early position, and was now leaning over him, the tips of her dark hair skimming his skin. He felt hot and cold, his whole body shivered. It had been too long since a woman had been that close to him- and had had such an effect. "Feel free to ask for forgiveness whenever you want." He said, looking away and clearing his throat. He made to leave, because he felt the need to put some distance between himself and the beautiful cop. It was too soon, he still felt too guilty.

In answer, Teresa started to scream and shout and grunt, all very un-lady like reactions that amused the blonde man. Of course, when she saw that he was laughing, she incinerated him with a look. "It's not funny! It's late and I'll never be able to find a plumber who'll come right away, so I'll have to take an appointment for tomorrow, but then, I'll have to wait for him, losing a morning of work that will result in me being behind in my schedule!" Teresa imagined Ardilles, who had been clear about the fact that the Red John case was her priority, coming even before existing, and co-worker/partner of sort Ray Haffner, who was pushing her to fight for Minelli's job and move in with him.

"The hell with that…." She mumbled, crossing her arms. It was starting to get chilly- strange, as the room had no windows.

"Hate to sound like a broken record… but those excuses?" Jane asked a bit flirty, lifting his eyebrows, and Teresa smiled- the first honest smile since they had met.

"I'm sorry if I have been insufferable. Usually, I'm not such a bitch." She said, pouting again. He wanted to sigh at the sight of those lips. They were so full, and seemed so soft… if she had a boyfriend, he was damn lucky.

Or maybe not. He couldn't understand how a sane man could leave the bed in the morning, given the chance to make love with such an elfin creature. Either he was a saint going through a passion every day, or he was an idiot who couldn't see what was right before his eyes.

"You are not a bitch. You are authoritative and with high expectations, especially towards the people who work underneath you." And he blushed as he said so, because maybe the double entendre could be lost on her, but he couldn't help but having very graphic visions of her, naked underneath him, willingly giving herself to him. "And you had a bad day."

Their gazes met in the darkness, and Lisbon felt heat radiated through her whole body. He was reading her, and she felt unsure, unprotected, exposed. A sensation she had always hated: she had always been strong an in control. She closed her eyes when the scent of cologne, mixed with tea and sweat, hit her hard, and she imagined…things she wasn't supposed to be thinking about.

God. How long had it been since she had had X-rated fantasies about a semi-stranger?

"So… Patrick, right?" she asked, rolling on her heels; when he didn't answer but stared at her, she explained herself. "Your friend at the bar. He called you Patrick."

"Oh, Danny. Yes. He isn't really a friend. He is kind of family." He looked away, and she felt something change in his behavior. Jane stood, and put as much distance as possible between the two of them. Suddenly, it was like she was burning him- and she didn't like the sensation, the wave of disappointment that rose in her chest. "I was married with his sister."

"Was" married-in the past tense. She sighed, feeling a relief that wasn't supposed to be there, but she was unable to stop it, and she hated herself a bit for that. She had been right-there had been a wife-and now, there wasn't any longer. Jane was probably a widower, maybe had suffered –maybe he was _still _suffering- for the loss of his beloved; otherwise, she couldn't see how he could still be in a good relationship with his in-laws.

"I'm Teresa Lisbon. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise, Teresa Lisbon" he shook her hand. His grasp was strong; his hand was warm and callous. Patrick Jane was a living enigma: his hands belonged to a worker, and yet, his eyes talked of a smart, intelligent and educated man.

His eyes. She gulped down when she looked at them; they were fixed on her lips, and they didn't stop, even when she left his hand and took a step back. And Teresa swore he was taking a step toward her, closing the distance between their bodies when the sudden intimacy was broken by an annoying, despicable noise.

Her phone. Her life was calling. Her job. Reality.

She took few steps away from him, and answered, immediately in cop-mode. She didn't say more than a couple of words after "Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon", and Jane had to smile. Senior Agent. She was probably barely thirty, and was already a senior agent. That woman didn't seem to have much of a life outside of the job. She closed the call, and turned to look at him, clearing her throat.

"So.." she started, but he stopped her, charming with that grin of his, a magnet for any living being. Teresa was sure that no one could resist Patrick Jane.

"I will forgive you, and start anew." Jane said, and when he paused, she could see in his eyes that there was a "but" coming – and in fact, few seconds after she had thought about it, he started to talk again, with a smile on his lips. "But only if you'll offer me dinner one of these days."

"Deal." Teresa said, smiling, biting her lips. She looked at him like she was a shy schoolgirl, and felt confused by her own behavior, but then, she mentally shook her head. She wasn't flirting with Jane; yes, he was an handsome man, but she was dating (sort of) Ray, and she was just being nice. She had been rude, had judged him based on a first impression made while in a bad mood. Besides, he was the manager; it was always a good thing to have someone in such a position as a friend. And he had helped her out as he could. It was only fair, after all.

"Then, I'll guess that… I'll see you when I'll see you?" she added, still blushing, her voice too high, strolling out of the building, ready to get back to HQ and work on the Volker case she had recently been assigned. Jane simply smiled the mega-watt smile Teresa felt already addicted to.

As soon as she was out of eyesight, Jane smiled in triumph. Teresa Lisbon was all about work, but he was going to show her that there was more than that at life.


	3. Chapter 3

Dear guest, this story wasn't written to be sexist, in no way, and I'm sorry you are seeing it that way. I hope you'll stick with me, and change your mind, hopefully. Jane doesn't disrespect Lisbon because she is a woman; he is smug and arrogant, and doesn't like being lectured, be it by men or women. Also, with all due respect, but wouldn't be you get a bit mad too, if someone were to lecture you of the noise coming from your apartment in the late morning?

* * *

Jane didn't waste any time; he feared that, given time and space, Teresa would back off, and find excuses after excuses to postpone their dinner, until so much time had passed that he would have understood that it was never going to happen.

Well, he wasn't going to let it happen: he was going to have dinner with her, no matter what. Besides, as it was the middle of the week, maybe she would have indulged him, instead of running away scared fearing that it was a date- it was common knowledge that people don't start to date in the middle of the week- and he was going to let her choose what they were having and where. She was going to like it: Miss Teresa Lisbon liked control and power.

As he was about to knock on her door, Jane groaned, banging softly his head against the dark hard wood. Thinking about such a statement had made him think about where else she could be assertive, and a huge, soft, feminine bed covered in sinfully red silk had made its appearance in his mind, together with a very naked Teresa who was sensually and slowly riding his body clad in orgasmic oblivion.

He took a big breath. _Many _big breaths. Yes, Teresa was a beautiful woman- and seeing her in sporty apparel had cemented this fact in his memory place – but it just wasn't right. It was… too much. Too soon. He didn't deserve a second chance, not after the big mistake he had made. He wasn't worthy.

God. Maybe he was making a huge mistake. He felt like a teenager, attracted to a young girl for the first time. Like he hadn't seen a beautiful woman after Angela's passing. But, he didn't know. It was different.

And yet, for some reason he couldn't fully wrap his mind around, he was attracted to her, but it didn't feel just physical. It was magnetic, like he needed to gravitate toward her to just forget for a little while and feel better for a short amount of time. Never mind how guilty he was going to feel afterward, when he was back in his apartment, alone in a cold, empty bed.

He needed a long, cold shower. And a good night's sleep. Maybe he could still turn on his heels and get back to his own apartment and keep his pride intact, instead than retreating like a lost puppy with its tails between its legs and…

"Ehy." the door opened, and he heard Teresa's quite surprised-but not unhappy-voice; he lifted his eyes from the point on the marble floor he had been focusing them, and sea green met emeralds. She was blushing, her hair free, falling in soft waves on her shoulders, her chest, and even if she was wearing her "work armor" of dress pants and a professional blouse, she was still… still… He didn't know how to say it. He just knew he couldn't get back to thinking of her as straight as a nail Miss Lisbon, because he had seen her messy and carefree and he couldn't forget about it.

He remembered everything. Always.

"Ehy." he said, taking a step back, lowering his eyes a bit. He put his hands in the pockets of his grey pants, rolling a bit on his heels like an insecure child. He was glad she was still dressed for work, he himself had left plaid shirts, old jeans and tennis shoes at home, donning instead one of his old three pieces suites, elegant and yet not too much.

"So." He started again. "I opened my fridge, and found it empty. And then, I remembered that you owed me dinner."

Teresa seemed perplexed, and stood in silence for a short while, then, she opened her door, wildly, and left him in. "Okay." She simply said, and without further ado, she moved to the kitchen. At her back, Jane looked at her with lifted eyebrows. That woman was a real enigma, he couldn't understand her despite his ability to cold-read almost any human being. The previous days she had been hot and passionate and so damn hotheaded, and now she couldn't even open her mouth.

Apparently, he was going to do all the hard work of creating a "common ground", so he started to look around to just find something, anything, to break the ice and start any kind of conversation. But it was, oh, so hard. She really didn't have anything personal around; there were prints on the walls, but he was sure that the previous owners had left them, almost everything was still packed in big, plain brown boxes neatly put in the corners of the apartment. She just had a laptop and a few case-files scattered on a big, round table underneath the crystal chandelier. A clear indication that Teresa Lisbon was all business and no fun.

He sighed. He knew from personal experience what kind of life that was, and the effects that it had on the poor, unfortunate souls who choose such a stressful and all-consuming life-style. The woman definitely needed a lesson before it was too late.

Yes. That was why he was there, Jane decided. He wasn't trying to get her in bed. He wasn't enamored with the brunette. No. He had just decided to be a good man, and even greater neighbor, and help her out before it was too late, before she had to understand her mistakes in as painful a way as he had.

"Bathroom?" he asked, just to break the silence. Teresa had escaped to the kitchen, and hadn't returned, and like a boy at his first date, he didn't know what to do and where to go. Maybe if he went to the bathroom, once back, Teresa would be there and they could start speaking like normal human beings. But Teresa was too smart, or maybe she was too uncomfortable, so she simply said _over there _and indicated the direction with a wave of her hand.

Jane sighed, and followed her instructions, glad of having thought about it, as the journey revealed few interesting details about the apartment and Teresa Lisbon. For example, in a small alcove, he found an old table, as big as a nightstand, with two pictures on it- one of a woman, very similar to Teresa, just a little older, probably her mother, and next to it, three boys, pre-teens, all dark messy curls and green eyes. Her brothers, probably, he thought with a small smile.

But what really intrigued him was what he found in a corner in the bathroom: a small yoga matt, closed, bright pink.

Yes, Teresa wasn't all work, no fun. There was still hope for the cop…

He tried the water, glad she had been able to resolve the problem, and washed his hands, and when he returned to her, he went to the kitchen, where Teresa was busy checking her refrigerator and staring at the oven like it was a monster. He grunted- yes, there was hope, but not so much.

"What are you doing?" he asked as he reached her side. He knew the answer- and yet, he feared it, with all his might. The sight was so… depressing. It was like walking through the frozen food aisle at the supermarket. Teresa turned, suddenly feeling herself shiver at the closeness of the man. Her nostrils were filled with his scent, something utterly male and aftershave- he probably used something to keep his stubble in order.

_His sexy stubble._

Teresa wanted to groan, but she remembered where- and with whom- she was, and stopped before any sound could leave her throat, and decided that it was all his fault: that man didn't know of boundaries, of personal space.

"I like to have some provisions in case of emergency." She admitted at low voice, shy, blushing.

"What kind of emergency? The Big One? The arrival of the Angels of Apocalypse?" he asked, sarcastic, his voice a grunt. His eyes were fixed on her neck, where she was wearing an old-style cross, the reason he had mentioned the Angels of the Apocalypse. The simple jewel hit him, as it didn't seem like something Teresa would buy for herself; Jane guessed it had to be some kind of heirloom, probably a memento from her mother if he was reading the signals right.

She simply rolled her eyes, and looked back at the refrigerator, clearly annoyed with him- something that annoyed Jane to no end. "Triple cheese, pepperoni, ham, chicken, Hawaiian, with onions…" he didn't answer, just stared at her in horror, not able to believe how many things she had in her small refrigerator. "Ok, Hawaiian it is, then." She said, grabbing the box. She checked the instruction despite having already done it many times before, feeling the need to make sure, and then she got ready the oven.

Jane was still in the same spot. Still in silence.

"What?" she asked, unnerved, huffing a little.

The blonde shook his head, maybe just to leave out of his reverie. "When I asked you to invite me to dinner, that wasn't what I had imagined." He admitted.

Teresa just rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well, sorry, but first, I didn't know we were supposed to have dinner today, and second, I had an awful day. I am tired and I really don't feel like being company this evening."

"All right" Jane said, again rolling on his heels. He took few tentative steps, and when he approached her, he leaned against a piece of furniture, at a safe distance. He looked around, and decided to change the subject once again, to try to talk of something neutral.

"You kept the old doors…" he mumbled, more to himself than to her.

"Uh?" Teresa said, not sure what he was talking about; then, she lifted her eyes, and saw him skimming over the frames with his gaze. "Oh, yeah. I haven't been here long. Besides, I liked that I didn't have to change too many things to move here."

He moved, and with a small smile he touched, reverently, the closest door. "They may have restructured the building in the twenties, but they kept things as they were. _This_ is here from before the Civil War." He said, in awe. People didn't understand why he liked old things so much, or why he had taken this hobby of buying apartments and houses just to renovate them and keep them as close as possible to their original selves; they couldn't, because no one had been raised like him. He had lived a nomadic existence, with no real memory of his mother. The only relative he had ever knew had been Alexander Jane, but even of him, Patrick wasn't sure. Many times he had doubted the old man was his real father, but then he had come to not care about it, deciding that he was just someone unfitting to be a parent.

But the old, the story, the _history, _they gave him stability, a sense of root, of being part of something bigger that he had lacked for way too long.

"My…" Teresa paused, not knowing how to define Ray. Was she too old to have a boyfriend? She couldn't call him her fiancé- despite what he thought, they weren't serious- but she and Haffner had a thing, no matter what it was. _And _she had to remember it- no matter how sexy her neighbor was. She thought about calling him her "partner", but given her line of work, it would be too confusing. So, she decided to be neutral. "My friend suggested painting them white."

Jane almost died- she actually saw him fainting, getting as pale as a ghost.

"This is black chestnut, not some vile pine from China and a do-it-yourself chain! You _can't _paint it! It's… it's like the body of a beautiful woman, it's supposed to be showed off!" she lifted her eyebrows, not sure she liked the comparison. "You know what I mean!"

"Sure." she said, rolling her eyes a bit. She couldn't stop looking at him, skimming over the hardwood and smiling, humming to himself. That man, Teresa realized, wasn't normal. He probably had an old, ugly leather couch at his place and drove some piece of crappy car. Maybe he even named his pieces of furniture.

God. She had to be careful with what she told him. If he got word that Ray had suggested to destroy everything and rebuild from zero… he wouldn't be just fainting. He would be _dead_.

"So, you've been here before?" she asked. "In the building, I mean."

"Yeah." He admitted, running a hand through his curls. Her attention went to those fingers, and she forgot all about the rest of the world. "The owner was… an old client of mine."

"You remodeled this place?!" She didn't know if it sounded more like an exclamation or a question, and frankly, she didn't care.

He chuckled, his eyes low and sad. "That hasn't always been my line of business." He admitted, gulping down a mouthful of saliva, feeling the shame rising up in his chest, filling his whole being, past, present and future. "I used to work for Mrs. Feldman. I often visited, and she always spoke of this building. It had been in her husband's family since 1846, and when he passed away, this big, empty house filled with memories and regrets was all that was left of their time together on this Earth. She often spoke of the fact that they didn't have heirs, and that she feared that, once dead, someone would tear it down. That's why she transformed it into apartments, but only after finding someone who would have kept it as close as possible to the original."

"I like the old style" Teresa admitted, starting to get the table ready for a simple dinner of pizza for two. "But I think I should do something with the kitchen. I don't use it a lot, but it's just too small. Even for me." she admitted with a laugh. She went back into the kitchen, and opened the fridge, thinking about what drink went better with pineapple pizza.

"Any idea?" he asked, smiling and again getting closer and closer. He leaned over her frame, examining along with her the contents of the fridge. There were six different types of beverages, and he grabbed a bottle of beer- his favorite brand- from the door. Without asking Teresa.

"I'd like for it to be bigger, with more light. With white furniture and a big window." She managed to say, with closed eyes. He was still towering over her, and she could smell that damn aftershave of his. She had been an adult for many years, had been with many men. She couldn't understand why this one had this kind of effect on her.

"Nice. I like people who know what they want." He admitted, then he returned to look at the fridge. "Beer? Wine?" he asked, studying the selection again.

"I don't drink." She admitted, gulping down a mouthful of saliva, and fighting against the tears that wanted to show themselves. She sniffed a little, getting tense at the mere hint of alcohol, and it didn't escape Jane's notice.

"Your father?" he asked her. It had to be- maybe he was the reason her mother was dead. It would have explained why she had pictures of her whole family, minus daddy dearest. "I'm sorry." He added when she had nodded. And he truly was.

"Well. It wasn't your father." She simply said, sad. Her reaction didn't show deep hate, but sorrow, pity and resentment for a missed childhood- the man hadn't been the reason Teresa's mother had died. "I just… sometimes I have people over. So, I have alcohol. Just in case."

Jane grimaced. Again with the emergencies. Always thinking about the others. Always thinking about the duty. She was really a Saint. Saint Teresa. Mother Teresa.

_Not _what he thought about when he pictured her in his mind.

They stood in silence, heavy and uncomfortable, and when Jane was about to talk again, the sound of the oven's timer broke the spell that had fallen upon them. Teresa hurried to grab the pizza, and in few swift moves, she cut it in two and put in on the table.

"Ok, we've got… fifteen minutes, tops." She explained, looking at her watch. Jane shook his head, sitting at the table, but taking his time to cut the pizza in small pieces and eating it with gusto- despite it tasting like cardboard.

He moaned- falsely- just to see how she would react, and when he saw her reaction, he grinned. Teresa was sighing, staring at him, gulping. God, that woman really didn't know how to enjoy life. If he had this effect on her, he wondered how long it had been since she had felt real passion, let desire rule her existence.

"You work too much." He sighed. He knew what it meant wasting time, and he was sad to see someone else making his same mistakes. He told himself, again, that this was the reason he was with her- looked for her company, even if they had knew each other for just a matter of days.

"Well, crime never sleeps, and so neither do I."

"Never? So, you don't have time to go to bed?" As soon as the words left his mouth, they both fell silent, and the fork fell from Teresa's hands. Jane was as surprised as her, but he had learned when and how to put on his mask, and that was the time to smile mischievously, not show her how he felt because, _again, _he had imagined her in a huge, sinful bed. With him.

"Well," she said, clearing her throat, pretending that she hadn't caught the double entendre, "It depends. I am working on a _huge _case right now, and preparing my testimony for another one I closed last year."

"Don't you ever regret it?" he asked, his eyes low, voice just a whisper.

"It's my job, and I like it." She admitted, playing with a lock of hair. "Besides, I help people." _Like no one ever helped you, _Jane thought, but decided against it. They weren't that close yet. And maybe, they never would have.

Her Blackberry made a sound, indicating that a new e-mail had arrived- it was from Minelli, her boss. She read it and decided to answer immediately, he and Bertram were worried about the Red John case and the killer's connections, and so was she.

"It never stops, really?" Jane said, breaking the silence. "The pressure, the… need. As much as you do, there's always something else to do, someone else who needs you."

"Looks like you walked in my shoes…" She said, smiling a little, eating a piece of pizza.

"Why?" he asked, this time looking for her eyes. He needed to see her, for this answer.

She shrugged, not daring to look at him. She didn't know a lot about this man, and hadn't looked for him the CBI database, but she didn't get her badge for nothing. She was a good judge of character-not perfect, but good enough- and she had an inkling this man could understand what was going through people's minds with just a look, like a profiler or…

Then, she narrowed her eyes, remembering his comment about his previous line of work, and wondered if he had been a shrink, some kind of therapist, maybe even a psychologist or a profiler of some sort. "Well, I want to make a name for myself, have a career." She paused, pretending to be thoughtful. "The general idea is becoming General Director for the CBI before turning 40."

"Ok, ambition, it's good, it keeps you motivated, but then," he asked her, with mischievousness and mock seriousness. "Then, what?"

"Then I'll be on top if the food chain" she told him, and took a big breath as went to read another email. She didn't even bother to answer this one, as she thought it didn't make any sense. "And I'll be the one tormenting my subordinates with emails night and day."

"You planned everything out." Again with the low voice. Teresa didn't like it. She didn't need, or want, people to be sad, or judgmental about her choices. She had made them and she was going to live with them, and no one, _no one, _was going to stop her from reaching her objectives.

"Yes, I did." She told him, standing up and looking at his face. She had that expression Jane had come to love so much, that fire in her eyes that took his breath away and left him speechless, in awe of the small beauty. They both knew she didn't owe him an explanation, but she wasn't going to let him get away with it. "I went to the academy, started as a rookie at the San Francisco Police Department, and got an offer from the CBI when I was still an officer, and even there, even _here, _I had to work hard, the double of the others, because I am young and because I am a woman. But you know what I got? I'm the youngest senior Agent of the bureau, and if I keep this up, when, in less than two years, my boss retires, I'll be in a good position to get his job."

"And then, what?" He asked again, repeating the same question of before. He stole a slice of pizza from her plate. "Good. Not as good as The Fire Station's, but acceptable."

Teresa grunted. She was starting to have enough of this. She had accepted dinner with Jane because she had felt bad about how she had judged him, but more than eating frozen pizza with a neighbor, she felt like she was being interrogated by her right hand man, Cho.

"I've got plans." She simply told him, and Jane smirked. Oh, he could see it on her wall, her ten year plan (or maybe 20), with all the things she had wanted out of life. Going to college, get a job, having a career, buy a house, career again… she probably planned to get married at 35, and have the average 2.5 kids in the next few years, and buy a place by the sea in the not so far future with her still not existent husband. "What, you don't like to plan your future?"

Jane looked at her with dark and stormy eyes. He seemed…mad, and it was scaring her. She shivered, hugging herself for comfort. "I like surprises." He simply told. What he couldn't tell her- yet, at least- was that, in his youth, he had craved a future, planning what he had lacked during his wandering years. But then, he had grown up, left the carnie behind and married Angela. They had planned and planned the future, and it had become his new mantra. But what good had it done to him? Nothing. Now, he just regretted the time he had never had with his wife, the first steps of his child, missed because he was too busy with a client.

"I don't like surprises." She simply said. The phone beeped again, again her boss, and she decided that she didn't have any chance this time. "Duty calls" she smiled, but he could see it was filled with a bit of sadness. Who knew-maybe she liked spending time with him.

"I think I'm done with slowing down your race to success and power anyway." He stood up, and the regret on Teresa's face was even bigger. She was gulping down something that wasn't there, she was red, sweaty. He smiled when he saw her dilated pupils, indication that she liked what she was seeing. "Thanks for the pizza."

"Thanks for the company" she said, waiting for her phone to connect. "Ehy, are we even?" She asked him as he was already opening the front door.

"Even?" He lifted his perfect eyebrow. He was really a good-looking man, something that made shiver all of Teresa's feminine parts.

"Yeah. I judged you and accused you of having turned my water off. Are we even now?"

Jane's eye fixed on her fully, strawberry-like lips, and he decided then and there that he would have to taste them, eventually. She was too lost in her work, too concentrated on her career; she needed to let it go. He had wasted time and occasions because he had been just like that.

"We'll see." He said.

Her heart stopped in her chest. She hated surprises- and yet, she couldn't wait to see what he had planned.


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry for the delay in posting this; I'll make sure to try to do better, but life has been... well, life. I'll answer all of you soon, if I haven't done so already. Just know that I'm glad for every work and fav that I get.

* * *

A sharp knock on her door awoke Teresa in the middle of the most pleasant dream, a fantasy that had left her whole body humming and trembling, her fair skin flushed. She couldn't remember the details, as she had been rudely interrupted, and yet, she felt the sensations running through her like it had been the truth all along.

And then, they knocked again at the door.

Grunting, she left the bed, giving a quick glance at the clock in the corner; it wasn't six yet, and she hadn't been able to fall asleep until a couple of hours before, between the dinner (and the guilty attraction) with her hot, widower neighbor, and a late night call with Ray. She shook her head at the thought of the man. She had to make a decision, and fast. Ray was pressuring her into taking the next step in their relationships and move in together, but she didn't feel it was right. The fact that she owned the apartment and couldn't sell so soon after having bought it could be an excuse only for so long; fact was, she liked Ray, but she didn't know if she loved- or _could love –_him.

"What?" she exclaimed, opening her door wide, still a mess. She was wearing her old Chicago Bears Jersey- a gift from her brother Andrew, personalized with "Lisbon 99", her number in the track team- and her hair was still a mess, curly and wild.

And in front of her, there was her charming, sexy and already dressed, in order and ready neighbor, Patrick Jane, clad in denim and one of his plaid shirts.

"Good Morning, Miss Lisbon" he told her, chuckling and eyeing her appreciatively. She was still flushed from her dream, and his look just made her blush more. He was so perfect, and the way he looked at her, how close he was, had her remember how she had fought the attraction just the evening before.

"Do you know what time it is?!" she asked, pretending to be mad. But she couldn't-she was too shocked. She did her best to hide as much of her skin as possible underneath the jersey, but she kept blushing, and then she saw Jane staring at her knees, her feet, and she wondered if she was red there too.

He didn't say he was sorry, and shamelessly kept studying her semi-naked body, wondering how far the blush went, if she was as red as her face also underneath the fabric he had never guessed she could wear. Oh, he was starting to like taking her by surprise; it made him see all kind of things about this woman, who she really was underneath her professional façade; when she was caught up by surprise, she became so much more interesting, she allowed her real self and her passion to appear.

And the more he saw, the more he wanted to discover about Teresa Lisbon.

This fact made him feel better. _If _he was interested in her, in _her life, _than it meant something, it wasn't just a merely physical attraction, a chemical reaction. And if it meant something, maybe it was time to start listening to Danny, Pete and the others, and accept that he was allowed to have a life.

That maybe, just maybe, he didn't have to always feel bad, feel guilty. That he could have a second chance.

"Tsk, tsk, Lisbon, Lisbon, is this the way to treat the man who's coming to your rescue?" he asked, moving his index finger in a _no, no _way.

She eyed him suspiciously, already thinking that a man like Patrick Jane had to be always up to something; the previous day he hadn't said that much about his co-called previous line of work, but she had decided that she was going to use her CBI credentials to make a little personal investigation. It wasn't strictly legal, but she had a feeling that Jane, too, had been up to his head in something a little bit shady.

"Ok, I am not sure what you are talking about, but…" she told him, taking a big breath of annoyance. "first you'll get ready for me a_ huge_ amount of coffee, as you woke me up at half past six, and then…" she said, taking a few steps toward her room, rolling her eyes while he couldn't see. "Then, if you'll excuse me, I'll make myself presentable."

"For li'l old me?" he asked her, with mock wounded pride; she couldn't see him, but she could _hear _the innuendo, and she blushed. She was sure that he knew it- like he knew that, even if she was supposed to feel indignant, she wasn't. "Please, there is no need, Teresa."

She shook her head, not knowing to do with that man; it should have taken her no time at all to get ready, grab the first wearable thing and be done, but Teresa couldn't bring herself to. Yes, she choose something practical, like black yoga pants, but she put on her nicest t-shirt and, besides adjusting her hair, she decided on a bit of make up too; not too much, just a little lipstick, almost transparent, and a drop of mascara.

It took her over ten minutes to get ready- a personal record in the negative for Lisbon, and when she returned to her kitchen, he served her coffee. She noticed he wasn't having any, and was, instead, looking at her in disgust.

"Do you cops take a course, _how to always drink coffee 101_?" he asked. Yes, he was still clearly dissatisfied with her beverage of choice, but he still had a sense of humor. _And that damn, charming smile of his, _Teresa noted. "Seriously, thought, I hope you'll not sue me in front of the other tenants at the next meeting." He said. But he wasn't serious.

And in fact, she laughed in her coffee, almost coughing up. It was strange and carefree and good, but Teresa soon stopped, and got herself back under control. She wasn't that kind of woman, after all; he was a stranger, and she was a cop- a cop who wanted to have a great career and couldn't lose time after… an Harlequin kind of romance, or whatever.

"Yeah, well, you are lucky. The coffee is good enough." She paused. In the silence of the kitchen, it felt too intimate, too uncomfortable. "You want some?" and then she blushed.

Oh, God. A double entendre. She had used a double entendre with her _hot neighbor. _She couldn't believe it. She wasn't that kind of woman. Had never been.

He laughed, more because of her reaction than because of her phrasing. He shook his head, and Teresa stopped a second to study him. He had made himself at home, leaning against a piece of furniture, the long legs crossed. He acted like he belonged there.

_Like he owned the place, owned her._

He smiled, and her knees started to tremble; the caffeine was already running through her veins, her heartbeat was already accelerated, and Teresa decided that the coffee was the only responsible- not him, not his smile.

Again, in silence, for some unknown reason, he moved, so that they were side-by-side; Teresa sighed and closed her eyes, hoping that her hands wouldn't fail her, that the cup wouldn't fall on the ground. The musk aftershave, with a hint of something else (salt, sweat, male?) was engulfing her whole senses. She felt like the only reason she existed was to be next to him.

Like they were the only ones that mattered. The only ones there. He smiled a little, and his eyes fell on the small circle of gold around his finger, and then back to Teresa; the breath died in her throat when she saw him getting closer and closer, and she got scared –_I can't, He isn't part of my plan, it doesn't make any sense – _and she took a step back; she hit her head against a cabinet pensile, breaking the spell.

In that heavy silence, Jane started to look through the cupboard, until she saw him getting a cup and some tea. He started to prepare it, and carefully she inspected his movements. Jane was a strange man; he looked like a worker-hell, he was rebuilding his own apartment from scratch -and yet he behaved (sometimes) like a real gentleman, like an hero escaped from a Jane Austen Novel.

It was strange and familiar at the same time, peaceful; Teresa felt his presence filling the room-filling her life, even if it didn't make any sense–and in the silence she could hear his breathing, the soft sound that the fabric of his clothes made when he moved. She smiled of a little smile, her eyes a little sad and far away. A long time ago, that had been her reality, when she had been just a daughter, and her parents had been happy, together. Long before the nightmare started.

"I'd see a window at your back." He suddenly said, sipping his tea, humming at closed eyes. Teresa gulped down a mouthful of saliva, suddenly back in the presence, and despite the fact that she had just stopped to think to the worst time of her life… Well, hearing him moaning had gotten her to think about other reasons he could moan for. She thought if he had understood what she had been thinking about, but then she cleared her voice. Deciding to behave like nothing had happened at all.

"I thought you said that I was supposed to keep it as close as possible to the original project."

"Yes, but in that point I really see a window. You'd get a lot of natural light." He paused, and suddenly, Teresa felt like laughing. Jane was blushing, looking away, a bit uncomfortable. "Yes, ok, I may have thought about it a bit." Teresa chuckled, and listened to Jane for over an half hour, talking about what she could and couldn't do with her own apartment. He had some interesting ideas, and even if she could understand from his lingo that he wasn't an architect, he knew what he was doing.

And he liked it.

"So, Mister Jane…" she started, hands in her pockets. "Does it mean that you are interested in a job? Because I'd like to remember you, first thing first, that I live on a cops salary."

"Meh." He said, shrugging a little with nonchalance; she didn't know why, but he remembered her of Nero in some old movie, bored and completely uninterested. "I don't _really _need to work to live right now, and this is more a hobby than a proper job, so…" he paused, and did again that thing with his hands she had seen him doing when they met. She wondered if _that _had been his line of work- a magician, an actor of some kind. Maybe even a clown.

"So?" she asked, lifting her eyebrows. It was a proved stance. She always used with perps and witnesses, and it always worked. Always.

"So, I'm very… selective, towards the jobs that I am offered." he said, avoiding telling that yes, he had been remodeling apartments and houses since he was more or less a teenager, but had always done so only for himself. "To accept a job, it has to be special, or interesting." He said. Teresa felt, she didn't know why, like boiling; yet again there was something of him she didn't know, didn't get, and she couldn't say if a) he was making fun of her, or b) he was hiding something from her.

"So, my kitchen isn't special? Interesting?" she asked him, putting the now empty cup on the table and crossing her arms. _Interesting, _Jane thought with a smile. He loved reading her. It was so much fun, so natural…and for once, it didn't bring any pain. He could be his old self for a short while with Teresa Lisbon.

Maybe because she didn't know the real him, his past, what kind of egoistical, self-centered monster he had been in his previous life.

"Both, actually." He answered. He sighed, and instead of falling on the kitchen, his eyes landed appreciatively and with intent on her body. She gasped with indignation, and was tempted to just take her Glock and shot him where the sun didn't shine. "A place like this, it can tempt a man to do anything."

She shivered she felt the last words breathed on her skin. He was so close, no space between them, and every one would have understood that he wasn't talking about the kitchen any longer.

He just… _couldn't. _

With a single finger, he lifted her chin, and at the same time they gulped. His eyes were slowly closing, and she could smell the tea on his breath. She licked her lips-which made Jane grunt-and then, as he was so close their lips were almost touching…

"I have to be at work in 20 minutes!" she screamed, parting from him and running to the bathroom, leaving Jane there, like a statue of salt, his lips open at mid-air like he was an idiot in some b-rated comedy.

Teresa quickly washed herself- not time for a shower, and no, no way she was going to get naked and wet with Patrick Jane in the other room. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, and wondered what had gotten through her, what the hell she had been thinking about. She hadn't been thinking, that was the fact- she had allowed her body and her… instinct, or whatever, free reign. It was a strange, new situation.

And what scared her was the fact that she wasn't sure she didn't like it.

"Ehy, you know what? You can walk yourself out on your own. And, if your tea is still hot, you can give me my cup back another time, all right?" she screamed from her room. She was putting on the first clothes she had found- at least almost all her clothes were the same, dark pants, light shirts, dark jackets, white socks and simple and smart shoes.

"All… right'" she heard him saying. She heard the noise of the door clicking open, and suddenly she remembered something, a thing she hadn't thought about since she had seen him walking into her apartment like he owed the place.

"Wait!" She ran to him, putting on her jacket; she had already one arm in the sleeve, her purse in dangerous balance. "When… you said you were coming to my rescue…" she didn't end the sentence. Somehow, she knew she didn't have to- not with this man who seemed to know and understand everything.

"I think we could talk about it another time…" he said, and with that, he vanished, leaving Teresa to stay there, massaging her forehead with eyes wide open and wheels turning in her mind.

Had it really happened? And if it did… what the hell had it been? She couldn't believe she was considering… _him. _Patrick Jane wasn't her kind of man, he just _wasn't; _he was mischievous and wild and too much like the kind of men she had always avoided- and swore to never fall for. He wasn't like Ray.

Ray- her sort of boyfriend, the guy she was sleeping with, reliable, serious Ray Haffner, with a 9-5 job. Ray, who was just like her. Yes: _He _was her kind of man, not Patrick Jane.

And yet, as soon as he left, her apartment felt big and empty. As never before.


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks for the reviews and the favs, you guys rock!

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Teresa didn't see Patrick for the rest of the week, and she mentally complimented herself. She thought that, if she wasn't looking for him, she could deny any kind of attraction; of course, she forgot to mention to her subconscious that she wasn't supposed to think about it the whole time, _if _she wasn't interested. Besides, there had been a small incident, when she had called Patrick (with glee in her voice) the guy from the second floor... and yet, she was firmly believing that no, she didn't like him.

And then… Friday came.

Friday evening, Teresa returned from work early soon; usually, she liked to stay at the office until the middle of the night, but that afternoon she had the brilliant idea of tackling a suspect twice her size, who was not exactly cooperative. Her back was killing her, and almost all her muscles were sore, so she decided to indulge herself for once, and get back home at a decent hour. If she was lucky, Jane wouldn't make too much noise, and she could get a few hours' sleep.

And yet, as soon as she arrived in front of her building, sleep was the furthest thing from her mind. The object standing there on the pavement, a huge claw-foot tube in white porcelain, and the man who was skimming over the surface with reverence and sensuality, suddenly filled her thoughts. Lisbon started to get closer and closer, not fully acknowledging it, and she thanked God that Jane wasn't looking at her, wasn't seeing what she was sure was attraction in her irises- she swore, he probably produced pheromones with his sweat.. As soon as she was at his immediately back, she took a big breath to regain control of her body and her mind, and then, she cleared her voice.

"Nice. Are you planning on installing it here?" she asked, trying to sound a bit irritated.

He made an _uhm? _Sound, and then he turned, and his eyes shone like jewels hit by sunlight. Again, Teresa felt herself tremble, but she had already prepared herself a bit for her body's reactions, and she was quick to regain complete composure.

"Oh, ehy." he said, seeming a bit embarrassed, but happy as well, like an excited kid. "Danny and Pete went to park the truck, then they'll help me to bring it inside."

Teresa smiled, and then, once again, her eyes fell on the porcelain. The tub was white, huge –_seriously huge – _and had four claw feet in what looked like pure gold. The breath died in her throat as she suddenly saw herself and Jane taking a very long, very relaxing, sensual and _exhausting_ bath together.

She shook her head, sure that, by now, she was already phosphorescent. She couldn't think about that sort of things. Once again, she had to repeat, again and again, the mantra of _Ray, Ray, Ray…_

"So… wonna give us a hand?" Jane questioned her, sitting on the edge of the tub- an edge where scented candles would have been perfect.

"Uhm?" she said, coming back to reality just in that moment. At least she was good at her job, and had listened to what he had told her, despite having been in a X-rated fantasy. "Oh, no, thanks, but no thanks. For today, my purse is everything I'll carry."

"Lazybones." He accused, again with the smirk. She didn't know if she was supposed to hate that expression or love it, slap it or kiss it away.

"Ugh, please. Tomorrow I'll already have back pain because of an idiot I tackled today. I really don't feel like adding injury to the injured."

Jane chuckled, crossing his arms. Today he was wearing a close-fitting shirt, that accentuated his muscles, and again Teresa couldn't help but wonder what had been his so-called "previous line of work". Had it been physical? Mental? His body seemed to indicate physical activity, and yet he seemed much more intellectual than he claimed to be.

"Meh, I know the risks. But at least, tomorrow I'll have this marvel to lay in." Again, he skimmed over the stark white porcelain, and again Teresa thought inappropriate thoughts about Jane, the tub, herself and/or self-satisfaction. She decided to rely on her favorite form of wit, sarcasm, to break the moment and whatever was going on with them.

"You sure do like old things…" she mumbled. She wasn't talking just about his love for old buildings and for classic tubes, but also his choice of wardrobe. Yes, during the day he wore jeans and plaid shirts, but she had seen him in casual attire- and his idea of casual was three pieces suites. "Aren't you too romantic to be a man?"

Jan looked at her, and shook his head, fake wounded by her statement. "And you, my dear Miss Lisbon, aren't romantic enough to be a woman…"

She smiled, and couldn't resist getting closer and closer. But when she was at his side, she touched the tub, pretending that it had been her plan all along. The only thing on her mind. "It looks like it's comfortable…" She sighed with a bit of longing. It wasn't just because the M-Rat ed fantasy. She _really liked _that tub. And yes, she had one too, but it small and uncomfortable, and she didn't have time to have more than a shower, and even when, and if, she did, she was just too tired.

"Wonna try it?" he asked. Teresa could see he was laughing; he had that glint of malice in his eyes. She wondered what he was thinking about, if, maybe, he was having the same fantasies as she did. Yes, he had seemed to be interested so far, but how could she tell it wasn't all a game for him? She couldn't. Because he wasn't serious, reliable Ray, and that was it.

She rolled her eyes, snorting. It was very un-lady like, but she didn't care. After all, hadn't she just decided that Patrick Jane wasn't her type?

"I'm serious!" he swore, getting closer and closer. Again, she was thrilled and moved by his scent, and again she wondered what it was. A product he used, something that his own made? God. She would have been millionaire if she could just bottle up his essence, pure and unaltered sex appeal (and plain sex too). "C'mon, Teresa, live a little!"

He took her hand, and without waiting for her to reply, he guided her into the tub. She felt electricity running through her whole being, he set first one, and then the other foot into the tub, right in the street, while people was passing by and stared at them like they were maniacs.

And yet, for some unknown reason, she couldn't care any less. Because her eyes, her mind, her whole being was focused and lost in Patrick Jane's amused eyes. Eyes that had something different…like for once, he really, really was happy, like he was there, in that moment, and didn't want to let it go.

"Now, sit…" he instructed, and lost in the sensation and the moment, Teresa just nodded, her mouth slightly open. "I need…" He said, and he gulped down, like he was having trouble talking. Teresa looked at him, and saw that he was sweating, and held the hand forcefully, desperately. Yet, when he spoke, his voice was sensual and low. "I need to check the… the length."

She did as she was told, unable to resist temptation, and then closed her eyes; she felt Jane moving at her side, felt his voice right at her hear, his breath hot and humid and uncontrolled. Yes, she was moved, bothered by this situation, but so was he. "Can you see yourself, getting back home in the evening, after a long, hard day at work? Relaxing in this big tube… a candle, scented salts, your favorite bubbles and a cup of tea. Chamomile, maybe? Yes. Yes, I can see you drinking it…"

She smiled. Even if she didn't want to. "It seems more like your cup of tea, Mr. Jane." she said, and the humor wasn't lost on her. She laughed, and he smiled, because he hadn't heard a sound so beautiful in such a long time. She should have done it a lot more, he decided.

"Not really." He said, with a bit of a fuss in his voice. "Well, of course, if the company called for it…" he ended the sentence on a sigh, with a lot of longing in his voice. And again, Teresa wondered how much of it was an act. Suddenly, it was all too intimate, he was too close, with his breath on her neck, it was like he was in the tub with her, it made it all much more sensual. And, she wasn't supposed to think sensual thoughts about men who weren't her "boyfriend".

"Your friends will be there soon, and I don't think they would be happy of adding weight and…"

"It wouldn't be a big weight." Jane said, but then he stood, and offered her his hand. Teresa made the mistake of looking into his eyes, and found sadness in there, and a bit of regret. She stepped out, but maybe because of his closeness, or maybe because she wasn't so good at leaving huge tubs, her feet slipped. He grabbed her before she could fall, his hands on her hips, hers on his chest, his skin hot, his touch like fire despite the clothes dividing them.

"I've got you." He simply said, looking at her. His eyes were big and deep, dark. There was no denying the desire there, even Teresa couldn't say otherwise. She had never been such an expert, and yet, she knew this: he wanted her.

"You shouldn't do this…" She said, almost crying. She didn't know what to do. Jane went against everything she believed. He wasn't part of her plan. But she wanted him- and he wanted her. Didn't she deserve to at least see where it could lead? "You shouldn't… talk like that. Like you… want to seduce me."

He snorted, his voice still low, hot on her neck. "Why Teresa?" He asked. His lips were so close to her skin that she could almost feel them. "Why shouldn't I want a beautiful woman?"

"I'm... a client, right? You want… to remodel my kitchen." She tried to say. it was an excuse and they both knew that, but he had just said that he found her beautiful, and she needed to get back her control, and this was the only way she knew- be professional.

"I didn't know my voice could have such an effect." He said. He was still looking into her eyes, but he had moved one hand. His right thumb was caressing her plump lips, making her sigh. He could probably feel her heartbeat, her warmth, but she didn't care. She _couldn't. _"It's been so long since… since I've had a beautiful woman in my arms…"

That sentence was like a bucket of cold water on her. Suddenly she remembered that he was a widower, that he had lost his wife. His sentence also said that he hadn't been with anyone yet… what did it mean? That she was just a plaything to get back in the game? What did he expect, a pity fuck? No. She wasn't going to be that woman. Yes, she didn't look for enormous passion, but she couldn't accept this. She had to be one and only, not a rebound.

She forced her way out of his embrace, and regained her balance. She crossed her arms, and even did she knew that it was a defense mechanism. "People will get strange ideas." She said.

"Is it really that important?" he asked. His voice was still low, but Teresa could hear, feel that it was for a completely different reason. Not desire, nor lust- but pain.

"Yes!" she almost screamed, standing proud. Yes, it was important, because she remembered the looks she had received as a kid. She had always been the "poor child"… because of her mother's death, because of her father's abuses, of his addictions, because of his death and because she was a child herself and was too busy looking after her own family to properly think about herself or getting a life. Then, it had been too late, or so she had thought, so she had decided to put all her energies in her work, her career.

She didn't want to be the poor child any longer.

"Will you ever tell me why?" he asked. She simply snorted. No, she would have never told him- because she would have been back to Chicago, to those nights and days, and she wasn't that person any longer- and she didn't want to feel like her ever again. Not even for just an instant.

"Teresa?"

It was Ray, and his presence immediately awoke Teresa, made her come back in her skin fully. He was dressed in one of his finest suites, his hair, getting silver, were shining in the sun.

"Were you waiting for me here?" he asked. He got closer, a hand on her hip, and kissed her on the cheek; Teresa sighed, closed her eyes and fought the instinct of retreating. She hated herself- she had never been ashamed of being kissed in public by Ray; she tried to tell herself that Jane wasn't the reason she felt so embarrassed, and yet, she knew it a was a lie. Everything she felt nowadays was because of the man with the sea-green eyes.

"What is a tub doing on the pavement?" he asked, lifting his eyebrows.

"It has just been delivered." Teresa explained, feeling the need to fill the silence. "Mr. Jane is waiting for a couple of friends to move it into his apartment."

"I see" Ray said, reaming proud and nice and unflappable, Teresa's favorite quality. The two men shook hands and introduced themselves, and time froze for Teresa as she studied them, their differences and the contrast between them, Ray with his fair skin and his dark colors, Jane, tanned but with blonde hair and light green eyes, one a patrician and the other a God. One a perfect lawyer, the other… she didn't know how to describe Jane. She didn't know who or what he was.

But he was dangerous for her. Of that much she was sure.

"Teresa?" Ray called, and she turned to look at him. Jane, under his teeth, grinned amused, as he understood she hadn't been listening to her so-called boyfriend. "Bertram called a last-minute press-conference. I asked you if you want to go now or leave your purse here and get a drink before joining the others."

"Oh, yes, Teresa. I think you need a drink after such a long day. I bet her bar is perfectly equipped for any kind of emergency." Jane snorted. He didn't like Ray, and he had to admit that, were they to fight for Teresa's attentions, he would have won with flying colors. God. The lawyer didn't even know that Teresa didn't drink. And they were dating, for God' sake.

Teresa didn't like his last statement. Instead of seeing it as it was- Jane's particular way of defending, or something like that – she grabbed Ray's wrist and forced him inside. She didn't want for them to talk, for Jane to say that he had been in her apartment and she had talked about her father's addiction. "I need to put on some make-up" she simply said, and didn't wait for Jane to say goodbye, or even just wave.

"Is that the same neighbor who had shout his door in your face?" Ray asked, confused, as soon as they were inside her apartment. Teresa felt like rolling her eyes: he was good at his job, but sometimes he was a bit oblivious when it came to real, outside-of-the-job life in general. She guessed it was because he had, since his early childhood, been in one of that New Age sects, Visualize, or something like that. It was his only negative side so far, and frankly, until he didn't ask her to abandon her Faith, she was kind of cool with the kind of man Ray was.

"Let's say we made pace" she simply told him. " He checked my plumbing, I offered him dinner." She paused, feeling herself getting redder and redder. She couldn't keep having this kind of reaction whenever the man was involved, she wasn't a kid. "Here. Pizza." She felt the need to explain.

"Ah! That's why the bar comment!" Ray said, clearly happy. Poor man, he probably thought it was all innocent and platonic. He didn't know what kind of thoughts crossed his girlfriend's mind when she was with him, nor what she did at night alone in her bed, when the thought of Jane, naked on the other side of the wall, was too strong, too much to handle.

"Yeah." She paused, feeling guilty, wondering if next Sunday Father Michael was going to be available for a confession. "Did I tell you he renovates apartments? I was thinking about asking him to do some work in my kitchen."

"Teresa, how can you think it's a good idea?" he said, sighing, like he was a parent who had just been disappointed by his own kin. "That man had a bath tub on the pavement."

Teresa lifted her eyebrows and didn't bother to answer. It wasn't like Jane had installed the bath tub there; he and his friends had unload it there and he was waiting for his friends, family or whatever, to move it. It sounded so much more reasonable than park far away _and then _unload the tub and move it. Besides, how did he dare to criticize her choices? Apparently, her silence spoke volumes, for Ray sobered up, and went to her side, patting _(patting!) _her head.

"I'm sorry, Teresa, you are right, you can make your own decisions." He paused, and then laughed. "in another situation, I could have been jealous, thinking that maybe he could have made out with you…" then he made an expression that irritated Teresa to no limits, like the mere thought of a man like Jane flirting with a woman like her could be impossible.

She felt like hitting Ray. But then decided against it. He was still her boyfriend, after all.

Even if she was starting to forget why she had always found him oh so charming.


	6. Chapter 6

Thanks to each one of you guys, following, favoriting and leaving reviews; I should have answered to all registered members, if I didn't, I'm so sorry, and rememeber I always, always think of you all.

BTW: On Polyvore, if you look for Elisabetta-negro, you'll follow a set entitled "The guy next door", made for this chapter.

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Teresa's life had been nothing but a practiced routine since she had been a teenager. Even long before she left her home, she had decided that Saturday morning was supposed to be spent washing clothes, cleaning the house and putting in order the bills; so many Saturdays later, putting in order and paying via internet her bills was what she was doing. Until the hammering started. Again.

"I can't believe it!" she growled, throwing her mobile on the table as she stood. What the hell was Patrick doing? He had already received the tube: now, what part of the apartment was he working on? Why was he hammering, maybe shirtless, showing off those tanned muscles, glistening with sweat?

Teresa blushed, and face-palmed. She couldn't believe that all she did all day was think about her neighbor like the main character from a b-class Harlequin Romance Novel- one of the guys from the covers, to be more accurate. And all because of that damn tube-and Jane, of course. He had insisted that she went on, and when he had talked in her ear, it had been like he had been there with her.

Teresa sighed, and immediately went to the guy next door, eager to talk with him. She was quite… sure of herself, if she could say so. After all, she wasn't doing it because he was good looking or because she had a crush on him or because she wanted to see if he was shirtless or wearing a t-shirt or what else. She just wanted to ask him if he planned to work all day long. It was a good excuse. Actually, it wasn't an excuse at all. It was the only reason she was there to begin with, Teresa told herself.

She knocked-twice- and Jane finally emerged; when she saw that he was wearing a grey t-shirt, Teresa couldn't help but pout a little, but when Jane saw that it was her at the door, he crossed his arms, quite annoyed, and he didn't even try to deny his hostility.

"Let me guess. All the hammering is annoying you and your friend."

Teresa lifted her eyebrows, wondering who he was talking about, then she remembered that yes, she had a boyfriend, and he was probably talking about Ray. Right. They had met during the tube "incident", right?

"Uhm… Ray isn't here…" She explained, and wondered why she wanted to explain things. Like the fact that Ray was just… he wasn't important and they weren't so serious. "So… I was just wondering…" She said, and paused, her green eyes as shining like the ones of a little girl. "I was wondering if you were planning of making all that noise all day long."

"Why, am I disturbing your precious work _again?" _he asked, chuckling. His sarcastic tone unnerved her, because it was uncalled for. Her job asked a lot out of her; she was always on call, and when she was home, she worked on reports, case-files and prepared her testimonies for court. Even if a lot of what she did, and all she did at home, was just paperwork and burocracy, it helped, it put bad guys behind bars and made sure they stayed there.

"Actually, I was paying my bills, but yes." She answered, tempted to show him her tongue like a little kid. "I am supposed to catch on paperwork later today." And it was true. She was terribly behind, between the Red John case going on court, and having spent four days hunting a serial killer in North California.

"No rest for the wicked…" Jane said, shaking his head. He really didn't think so, and believed that the lovely Lisbon deserved some rest, but seeing her all red an unnerved was such a reward that it was worth having her madder and madder with him.

"You didn't answer my question." She asked, again. "Are you planning on making noise all weekend?"

He chuckled in his shamelessly way. "I'm almost done. Wonna see the product?" he asked, and Teresa blushed like a virgin. She knew he was talking about the tube, but she felt like he was asking her for sex, to see him naked. And besides, even if he was talking about the tub… it was already too much, with all the innuendos and the X-rated scenarios planted in her mind by his sexy voice.

"Better if I don't." Teresa said, shaking her head; he didn't asked her why, and she was grateful, for she was that close to spill the truth. _Because we've played the sexy couple in your tube on the pavement, and because I spend all my free time wondering how good you could be in bed, and because if I enter in your place, I'll probably jump and violate you. _

Instead, she lied and said. "I have still to pay a couple of bills."

"Bills can wait, woman. Your curiosity… not so much." Jane said, grinning, and before she could say anything, he took her hand, and practically dragged her inside. She knew she could have fought him with her training, despite being very petite but Jane had been right: with her line of work, curiosity was kind of part of the package, after all.

"Ok, just one moment, though. I _really _need to pay those bills today." She said, trying to sound stern, but her answer sounded lame even to her own ears. She sighed, wondering if she was damning herself, and walked at his back, their hands still laced together; the apartment was exactly how Jane looked like to the observer, masculine yet classical, with an hint of something… old. No, not old, she corrected herself- classical, and elegant, like the clothes she had seen him wearing on a couple of occasions. Even the fridge wasn't a steely monstrosity like Ray's, but a (brand new) little cream colored thing that looked like something from "Happy Days". But what left her breathless was the fact that, despite the fact that this apartment seemed the twin of her own, it was completely different.

_Because it has its own personality- Jane's. _She thought, shivering. He was still holding her hand, and she started to feel uncomfortable. His touch was burning her hand, remembering that just few hours before Ray had tried to do the same as he had walked her to her car.

"So..." she asked to break the tension, hoping that he would notice their predicament and let it go of her. "Are all the apartments the same?"

Jane lifted his eyebrow and turned to look at her. He was still holding her hand, and didn't seem to notice, or to mind it too much. "Why should I know this, Miss Lisbon?" he asked, chuckling, and when she opened her mouth to talk, he stopped her, and talked for her. "Oh, because you think I've been the one who worked on the building? Nonsense, my dear. I told you: that's not my work, merely an hobby. When I bought here, they hadn't started to work on it yet, and decided that I could do it on my own. As an investment; and a way to pass time before deciding what to do with the rest of my life."

"You aren't planning on living here long term?" she asked, biting her tongue before being tempted to ask again what his real work was. She looked around, and wondered how it was possible that the place wasn't his home; it wasn't just for the work he had done, but the furniture too. It didn't look like a single guys place, it was too classy, too elegant, too… _feminine. _She froze, thanking God that she hadn't spoken out loud: those were probably pieces of furniture from his old house, things that his late wife had probably choose for their life together.

"Are you a forensic psychologist?" She asked out loud suddenly, her eyes glued to the bookshelves, filled with old books, classics, but, mostly, texts about forensic, behavior, history of profiling, the greatest serial killers and analysis of body language. She skimmed over the spine of few volumes, and took in hands one, an edition of Shakespeare's _"Sonnets_" that looked old and expensive. The dedication in the first page said _To Annie, My sweet Angel, with all my love, and a promise of many Christmas like this to come_, _your always, Patrick._

"Someone pays attention…" He says with a bit of rage, taking the book from her hands and putting it back in its place. She looked at her feet, feeling ire and shame at the same time; shame because she had introduced in a memory she wasn't supposed to, and ire because he had to know she hadn't done it on purpose.

"Yes, I do." She admitted. She couldn't look at his face, fearing it would betray her emotions, and instead, she focused on his hands, but when she realized that that, too, was wrong, she decided to roam the apartment once again. This time, her gaze fell on a photograph, clearly taken by an amateur. It wasn't professional, and the quality of the paper seemed low even through the glass, but it took her breath away as well. It was a mansion by the sea, and even if she couldn't see it all, she could bet it was huge. She wondered if Jane had worked on that place too, but looking at the picture closely, she could understand it wasn't the case. It was new and modern, flashy, not the kind of thing he said he liked.

"Coffee?" he asked, with again a hint of anger in his voice. He seemed annoyed, and the way he looked at the picture made her understand that it was that image that had driven him insane. But then, why having it there, if he hated it that much? She wanted to ask and talk, _Curiosity killed the cat, _but his eyes told her everything she needed to know: their talk was done. So, she simply nodded, and followed him in the kitchen, hugging her arms.

"You know what? I think I'd prefer some water…" She said. Coffee was too long, and the less she stayed there, the better it was. Jane was… well, he was Jane, and she was starting to be a bit too attracted to the man. She _really _was that close to jump him.

He turned to look at her, and after a second if silence, with a questioning expression, he looked at Teresa, clearly perplexed. "Ok?" he said, not sure if it was a question or an answer. He took a big breath, and turning on his heels, he marched for the fridge. _Huge, huge mistake. _Teresa thought, as she saw him bending. The position showed a line of tanned skin of his back, and showed off his muscles. She grunted, hating herself for the desire that never left her whenever such a specimen was around. God, she had a boyfriend- sort of- and even if Ray wasn't such a nice person, or had any particular talents (besides catching bad guys) and the sex was, well, simply awful (for her), it didn't mean that she had to be aroused by… by… well, by her asshole of a neighbor.

"Did you spend a nice evening with your _friend_?" she heard him ask, and his voice brought her back to reality, and yet, even if she heard well his accent on the word friend, she still blushed, thanking God that he wasn't there. Jane seemed able to read people's minds, to understand what was going through their heads: being spotted while thinking malicious thoughts about him wasn't in her top ten list, definitely, she felt it was something he would have never left her live down.

"His name is Ray, and well…" she decided to stay quiet. What was she supposed to say? She had been at the office, listening to a press conference; of course it hadn't been fun, and he probably already knew it. He just wanted to hear her saying that at loud, and like hell she was going to admit this to a man who didn't seem to know the meaning of the word "responsibility".

She grunted. "Ray's team stopped a cartel-related gang." She said, trying to show off, but not really feeling it. Bertram had talked like only Ray's team had done all the hard work, but she and her team had been involved as well. Unfortunately, Ray was in a slightly higher position right now, and in Bertram's graces as well, thanks to his political aspirations.

"Uh, Uh." Jane said, chuckling, offering her the bottle, _minus_ the glass. "My, my, Miss Lisbon. I feel like you aren't exactly a crazy in love, diligent girlfriend."

"I'm not…" She started, feeling the hate reaching her cheeks. But, for reason unknown to her, she couldn't end the sentence, admit that she and Ray were seeing each other outside the job, for totally not-job related reasons. She knew it should have been the right thing to do, that she needed to put an end to Jane's outrageous flirting, but instead of saying more, when she saw Jane's grin, she moved a little away, the bottle still in her hand, and started to wander around. "So, that fabulous bathroom you are so proud of? Does it really exist or is it just part of your fantasy?"

Jane simply smirked, and shook his head. "Please follow me, My Lady."

She did as he told, and followed him until they stopped on the threshold of the bathroom. Cautiously, she peeped in, finding a delicious room: the tiles were black and white, arranged like a chessboard, and the huge tube was set on the far end of the room, underneath a white wooden shelf.

She sighed. She loved that bathroom. She wanted that bathroom to be in her apartment. But it wasn't like she was going to admit it. First, it didn't sound too practical- and she had told Jane she was the practical type- and second, he seemed to have a huge enough ego as it was.

"Nice, but I'd miss a shower late in the evening."

He chuckled, and Teresa shivered. The shameless bastard was leaning close to her, he was so close that his hot breathing was making her shiver- mostly because of his damn innuendos. "Oh, but I do have a shower in my master bathroom. Big enough for two. Like this baby here." He said, and a part of Teresa wanted to run away, far from him. She had it bad enough already with her sinful thoughts of Jane in the tub, and now every evening she was going to imagine him naked in the shower as well, in her company, moaning and kissing and…

She blushed, shaking her head and trying to fight that sordid thoughts. God, what had she done? She had always thought to be a relatively good person, why was karma, God or what else sending Patrick Jane her way?

"Do you like it, _Teresa?" _she felt his hot breath in her ear, her name never before sounding so dirty, sexy and sinful, and she shivered from head to toes. "Do you like my apartment?"

Right. That was what he was talking about, the apartment. Not the idea of messy, dirty sex with her under the shower or in the tub.

"Yeah, you did a really great job." She admitted at closed eyes, trying to send away his scent. He was close, too close for comfort, but she had always been a fighter, and she wasn't going to give up first, whatever this game was and meant. "You are very… capable."

And who knew what else he was very capable at. And what else those big, strong hands of his could do.

He hummed between himself. "Interesting choice of words, Lisbon. Interesting, indeed."

She shook her head. His arrogance and his proximity were intoxicating her. Clearing her foggy mind a bit, she took a few steps away from him. She was so lost in her own thoughts that as she moved across the apartment, she didn't even see when she hit the bookcase. A pile of books fell on the floor, and she immediately went on her knees to put them back in order.

"Hey! You all right?" he asked as he hurried up at her side and stated to help Teresa with the mess she had made.

"Yeah, yeah, just… let me put them on the table, at least." He said. Teresa took a book in hands, and her eyes fell on the title; it was a volume she had read as well, by FBI Profiler David Rossi, _Deviance: The Secret Desires of Sadistic Serial Killers_.

"A light reading, uh?" she rhetorically asked, smiling a little, her curious eyes moving from the book to his face.

"I don't sleep a lot at night." He tried to justify himself, than, as he saw her keeping looking at the book, he sighed. Apparently, a few words were in order, because if he wasn't mistaken- and he almost never was- Teresa Lisbon was starting to believe that he was interested in serial killers because he was a killer in the making.

Unless… he found a way to move her attention to another subject. It wasn't going to work for too long, but maybe it could give him few days.

"Ehy, by the way, before I forget, I've got something for you." He smiled, and left his position and went to his room. She heard him looking for something, and when he reemerged, he had a sheet of paper in his hands. He gave it to her, and she saw what it was.

It was a sketch of her kitchen- with the changes suggested by Jane the day he had come over. It was clear it wasn't professional, and yet it was very accurate, and she saw how much thought there was in it.

"You really aren't an architect, right?" she asked, looking around. There were few books on the topic, and even one called _Renovation for Dummies_, so it was clear that it wasn't his line of work.

"I already told you I'm not." He said, almost snapping. Teresa jumped slightly, and he noticed immediately. Feeling like a monster, and knowing that he had just been one, he sighed. "I used to work for the police. Like a profiler. And, sometimes…like a sort of life-coach for the richest."

She opened her mouth to ask something, but he moved away from her, and went to look outside from one of the windows. With that particular life, he seemed dark, broody, a tormented soul. Teresa would have loved to investigate the mystery that was Patrick Jane furthermore, but something stopped her. She moved closer and closer, and before she realized it, her hand was on his shoulder, and even if she burned at the contact, she couldn't help but rub his shoulder. That, though, awoke him, and he turned; his eyes on hers were deep, lost, like he didn't know what to do.

"I'm supposed to meet a friend at the flea market. He is bringing me a couple of lamps." He suddenly said. She opened her mouth to say that it was all right, that she was supposed to get back to work anyway, but he stopped her before she could even say a word. "Come with me. It's such a nice day; it would be a waste to stay closed in your apartment working."

"Jane…" She said, shaking her head. "I… I can't." Even if she wanted to. His smile his energy, was contagious. And besides… she knew he had said those words because he was hiding something, and a part of her wanted to follow him around just to unwrap that enigma that was wrapped around a mystery, named Patrick Jane.

"But you want to, Teresa." He said her name sinfully, like her name of one of those sexy heroines of romance novels or history. From his lips, Teresa sounded exactly like Mata Hari.

"You're a psychic or what?" she asked, flirting a bit. With her back now against the cold glass of the window, she heard her voice, and she blushed, realizing that she had, indeed, purred like a naughty kitty.

"There's no such a thing as psychics." He told her, flirting back. "All I need to know is written in your eyes, Teresa." Those green huge eyes, that could shine like emeralds but had been misty like the most common old glass. They had mesmerized him from the beginning. One look and he knew: she was trouble. Of the best kind.

Only, Teresa didn't know it yet.

Lost in his eyes, Teresa couldn't break eye-contact. She didn't want to succumb to him, but neither could she admit defeat. She tried to look stern, professional like she did on the job, because she couldn't admit, especially to _him,_ that he was right, that she wanted it, wanted him to keep skimming over her over-sensible skin.

"Maybe my eyes are just telling you to let go of me." But she moaned, slightly, at the contact, and those words couldn't have sounded more false.

He shook his head. "Your pupils dilate when you see something you like." He paused. "Something you desire."

She wanted to say something, had decided to eat her pride and just look away, but before she realized what was happening, Jane had cupped her face with his hand and was getting closer and closer. She decided to not fight it, and closed her eyes and she answered to his kiss, allowing his taste of mint and tea to mix with her own of coffee.

God. He kissed like a God. Kissed her like she hadn't been kissed in a long time.

When they parted, they were both out of breath, and his hands were lingering on her skin. "That's what I thought I was seeing in your eyes."

She closed her eyes, not knowing how she was supposed to behave. She could have tried to escape- it would have been the smartest move- but she had responded to his kiss, so faking rage wasn't part of the equation any longer. She decided to just cross her arms, and pretend it was all his fault anyway- it had worked pretty well until that point, after all.

"Don't do that ever again." She said, hating that cat got the canary smile of his. "I don't care what you think. That's inappropriate and I'm not interested."

Jane didn't even pretend to be offended or sorry for what he had done. "Oh, Teresa, Teresa, we both know you are lying through your teeth."

She opened her mouth to say all those words that the nuns back at school had forbidden her to use, never, ever, but before she could let out a syllable, he had taken her hand and was dragging Lisbon out of his apartment.

"C'mon, Lisbon, you even have already taken your purse with you!" She shook her head, tried to stop him to say something, but the words kept dying in her throat. "C'mon, it's not like I'm abducting you!"

She looked at their intertwined hands. His hold wasn't too strong, and with her training she could have gotten free whenever she liked. Only, she didn't seem to want it. Which was crazy, but the more she wanted to act stern and professional, the more she allowed Jane to get away with, well, everything, and now, here she was, going from "keeping her distance" to "trotting toward the flea market hand in hand". And back at home, she had a briefcase filled with paperwork and case reports to work on. That were supposed to be ready for the Monday meeting with Bertram and Minelli. God. It was time to call a shrink. She had gotten crazy- everybody could have certified it.

"The world will not end because you took few hours for yourself." He said, with the same tone he would have probably used to talk with an unnerving child. It irritated her- it showed his complete lack of respect for her and her work. Who did he think he was? "And before you could say it: I didn't abducted you. You could have gotten free anytime, but you didn't. Ergo, you want to be out on such a beautiful day."

_Damn life-coach, profiling eye-reader that you are._ She thought, groaning. It wasn't a very lady-like sound, but the hell with that. She was mad with Jane, after all. Then, something hit her. "Just out of curiosity, why did you kiss me?"

He groaned out of frustration, again like she was a kid- but this time, one who wouldn't get it right. "I told you, Lisbon. You wanted to be kissed. By me." He paused as he saw the disbelief written all over her features. "Well, there's also the fact that you are a beautiful woman whom I'm attracted to and _I _wanted to kiss you…" Actually, there was much more he had wanted to do with her, but he didn't want to scare her. Also, it was hard to admit even for Jane himself, given his past and the loss of Angela.

He groaned as he saw how mad she was getting. Too much for his own good. "Listen, if you don't want me to kiss you any longer, just say it and I'll follow your orders, boss."

"Good." She said, faking a security she was far from feeling. "Then, enough with the kissing."

"Liar, liar, pants on fire." He sing-songed, but when he saw the fire in her eyes, and felt her grip on his hand tighten, he realized how forceful Teresa could be. "Ok, no more kisses? Scout's honor?" He swore, howling like a wolf, and she couldn't help but smile as she nodded.

They walked slowly, calmly, until Jane stopped at a stand where a man a little older than him, definitely well-built, was stationed. The two men said hello to each other with packs on their shoulders, and they started to chat about this and that before Jane was shown the lamps he was waiting for, few pieces in Art Nuveau Style. Teresa, as much as she liked them, wasn't that interested, so she started to look around, as she hadn't been at a flea market since Chicago, and even if she didn't miss buying second hand clothes, it was still a funny and rather interesting experience. Then, as she was strolling around, her eyes catching Jane's frame every now and then, something stole her attention away.

The breath died in her throat as she saw _it, _a 50s vintage halter dress. Bright red with small white polka dots, knee length, with a full-circle swing skirt and a frou-frou white petticoat. It didn't even seem real, it was like something out of Grease, something that Olivia Newton John's character could have worn at the beginning of the movie, when she was still saintly and pure Sandy. Teresa got closer and closer, and skimmed a hand over the soft fabric. It was just cotton, but even though the dress was old, it wasn't ruined and was still in perfect condition.

She didn't see, nor hear, anything, so lost she was in the simple and yet beautiful dress. The saleswoman, a lady in her sixties, had to elbow her on the side to get her attention. Teresa turned, fearing that the lady would be mad as she had touched the dress, but the woman was smiling brightly.

"You should try it on." The woman said, taking the dress from its display. Before Teresa could protest, the woman had ushered her in front of a full-size mirror, had tied the ribbon at the back of Teresa's neck, and had flattened the fabric against her waist, so that she could imagine herself wearing it.

"I…" Teresa struggled for words, looking at her reflection in the mirror. "I usually don't wear second hand clothes…" _not any longer, _she continued in her mind.

The woman shook her head. "Nonsense. The color and design, it's perfect for you. It fits your hair and makes your frame stand out." She patted Teresa on the shoulders like she was a child, or they were aunt and niece. "I'm sure we could reach an agreement…"

Teresa kept looking at her small frame in the dress, and imagined herself with it. It was soft and the red was bright, and it really suited her- it wasn't just something that the woman had made up to sell a piece.

"Wow." She heard, and when she turned, she saw Jane, staring at her in awe, with eyes and mouth wide open.

But that wasn't her life. And that dress wasn't suited for her. it didn't mean anything that it looked good on her- it just wasn't enough. She gave it back to the woman, and shook her head, sad and apologetically. "I'm sorry, but, I don't think that I'd ever had any occasion to wear it, with the kind of life that I have."

"What? You don't want it?" Jane asked, surprised, his eyes fixed on the dress even after she had walked past him.

She shook his head. "I don't have free time, and I don't really see myself tackling criminals with such a cute dress." She tried to laugh at it, but Jane saw the nervousness and the sadness behind it, and understood that she was lying; only, he didn't know if it was to him, or herself. He decided not to inquire further, and instead, looked around.

"Ehy, there's a place I know not far from here. What do you say about lunch?"

Teresa nodded, but after he walked past her, she turned one last time to look at the red dress, and she almost waked back to the nice woman. But before she could do anything, she mentally lectured herself.

_It's just an old dress. And you promised yourself that you were done with that life._


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks to each one of you guys, following, favoriting and leaving reviews, you are the best!

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As they left the flea market, Lisbon couldn't help but think, at every step she took, that she was forgetting something. It was just a sensation, and even if she thought it had to be somehow important, she couldn't point for the love of God what it could be.

She was so distracted by her own thinking- and by the burning feeling of Jane's hand on the small of her back- that she didn't even notice when he guided her in a small bistro. Like out of the blue, she found herself sitting in a secluded alcove, right in front of Jane, two cups of tea (that she would have never ordered in a million of years)between them and a window that looked at the Capitol Building at her right.

_Right. I work for a living- and I happen to work for the government. _She suddenly remembered, her eyes going wide at the sight of the building. She wondered if Bertram was on the job today. Who knew, maybe he would be passing by and spot her. _Please no. _she thought. She had been great PR for the bureau with the Red John investigation, but she was well aware that there were few small things that her big bad boss in charge didn't appreciate about her. She was doing her best to make him forget her past mistakes, and, she didn't know why, but she felt that being seen with a man like Patrick Jane lazing around couldn't be good for her career.

"Ah, Lisbon, Lisbon, you shouldn't always think about work. Isn't it better being here, drinking the best tea in Sacramento, than all alone at home, thinking about only work?" he asked, with his ever-present grin.

"Sure." She answered at low voice, with a tone that couldn't have been more sarcastic even if she had tried. She rolled her eyes, and took her Blackberry from her purse, but he stole it as soon as the devil's trap was in sight. He tsk-tsked, shaking his head, and hid it in his breast pocket.

"I just wanted to check the time." She justified herself, blushing. She hid with her shirt and her hand her wristwatch, as he grinned, again, at her blushing. She wasn't stupid, she knew she had been caught red-handed while checking if she had emails or missing calls. _Of course, he has seen the watch. _After all, he had told her that observing people had been his line of work, a long time before.

"Oh, really?" he asked, lifting a blonde eyebrow. "Are you going to abandon me, Lisbon? Did you arrange a date with your Ray and forgot to mention it to me? I'm wounded, my dear." He added, with a hand on his chest, faking she had wounded him for real. She felt like laughing looking at him; his pout was so false and childish that remembered that of a five years old girl who wanted a new doll.

"Ray's away on a case." She told him, lying through her teeth. She wondered if Jane had seen through it, and if he did, if he knew why she had felt compelled to lie, because she didn't. After all, what was wrong with admitting that Ray had asked her out and she had told him that she didn't feel like it?

Even if even that wasn't the truth. Ray _had_ asked her out, but she had told him she wanted to work on some reports. Only, she hadn't- as she was spending the day with her neighbor.

Jane sighed, feeling like Teresa Lisbon was a lost cause. But, he wasn't ready to give up on her just yet. Even if at a great cost, he had found redemption, after all, and there was still time for her to learn to enjoy life before it was too late. "Lisbon, it's a nice day. It's the weekend- a day you aren't' supposed to work on. So, I'll keep your phone for the remaining of the afternoon, and you'll live in the moment."

She groaned. She had never liked_ Dead Poets Society_ that much, and if he believed that a quote from the movie, or what it was, was going to make her change her mind, he didn't know her very well.

"Jane, Listen" she said, taking a big breath and looking at him with her best puppy dog eyes. "It's been… fun." She admitted, and saying the words out loud was almost painful, given the man's arrogance. "But I need to go back home and start working on my reports, or I'll have to stay up all night today and tomorrow if I'll want to have a chance of finishing them for Monday."

He smiled, and she shivered. She already knew that that expression could mean only one thing: Trouble. With a capitol T. "Not unless I find a way to corrupt you this evening as well, my dear."

She studied him, and the appreciation in her eyes wasn't lost on them. She didn't have any trouble admitting that he was handsome, and she was pretty sure that he knew it too, that it was something that more than once in his life he had used at his own advantage. "With all due respect, but it's hard to believe that a man like you has nothing better to do on a weekend evening than trying to _corrupt_" she said with air-quotes. "me."

"I didn't say I have nothing to do on a Saturday evening." He tapped his lips, studying her. She hated when he did that. With a passion.

"_You _told me that you wanted to corrupt me." She said lifting her eyebrows up to her hairline. Something was way wrong there- and she felt like she was getting herself in trouble by just talking with that handsome blonde devil.

"Interesting, Lisbon. I wonder if, deep down, you want to be corrupted." He paused, and looked at her with mischief and intent. "_by me."_

She blushed, and looked everywhere but him. She didn't know what he meant by his words, but she knew what kind of images his innuendos awoke in her. She couldn't help it: he was a good-looking man after all, and he was there, with _her_, something that had rarely happened in her life.

"I didn't say that I want you to corrupt me." Even if the thought of being seduced by Jane over a meal had definitely crossed her mind-more than once, actually. "I was just observing that your first statement seemed to imply a lack of plans, but then, you denied it."

She smiled. She liked being professional and in charge, and putting Jane back in his place was something she was rather enjoying. She hoped that she was going to get many other chances to do so; it made her feel like a very good cop.

"Oh, but I do have plans." He chuckled, sipping his tea like a gentleman from an old novel. "And they include a fire-cracker of a cop." He paused a second or two, looking in the void, then, like he was wondering something out loud, he asked. "What does it mean, _a man like me?"_

She blushed, and once again tried to evade him. He was a dangerous man, and his expression- that said that he knew exactly what kind of man he was- was even more so. "Uhm, where's the waitress? I need to order and get home ASAP if I want to get something done today." She played nervously with the hem of her shirt, fumbling with a strand of loose fabric. Jane looked at her with something she couldn't define; he seemed sorry, but whether it was for her or him, she didn't know. He seemed so deep in that moment, lost in his thoughts, his gaze faraway. She gulped down a mouthful of saliva, and felt a surge of affection for the mysterious man. She wanted to reach out, cup his face, hold his hand and comfort him. But she knew how dangerous that could be; a man like Patrick Jane could be poison for her plan.

"Someone, Teresa" he told her, using her given name and with a soft voice that remembered her of her father when she was still a little child. "Someone should teach you to stop to enjoy life."

Again, she got lost in his low, sad eyes and barely stopped herself from reaching out for him. He was trying to tell her something, she knew it. But she wondered if he was aware of it too. "Why do you care so much, Jane?"

He looked outside, trying to dismiss either her question or his answer, she wasn't sure. "Well, what can I say, I like to save damsels in distress and I hate to see a woman who spends her days and nights closed in an office working on paperwork, while she could be outside having fun and work only on working hours and days."

"Is it the only reason?" She tried to force him, because she knew there was much more and maybe that was his way of trying to share it, because alone he couldn't say the words out loud.

"Why can't I have only one reason?" he asked, defensive. She was pretty sure it was the end of it, as she had been told that when suspects answer a question with another question, it's their way of deflecting the detective, changing subtly subject. But she wasn't going to give up yet. If he wanted to get involved with her life, change her, then, he had to give her something in return. She didn't break eye contact, knowing that it would show him that she wasn't stopping, that the silence would unnerve him. And after few minutes, he took a big breath. "You remember me of someone." He admitted with a small smile.

She didn't say anything, scared of committing some gaffe. She knew it wasn't his mother, as he had told her himself not long before, but other than that… it could be a friend, a relative, his father, or maybe, and that was the real reason she kept her mouth shout, his late wife.

"Sometimes…" he said, and he took a big breath, his eyes again somewhere far away from there. "Sometimes, you remember me of… _me." _he looked again in her direction, and smiled a bit when he noticed her surprised and skeptical expression. She even seemed a bit offended by his admission. "I used to be like you. I only thought about my work, I was always on call, always ready to receive a client."

"It's not that bad…" she tried to say, but it wasn't the full truth. Yes, she appreciated that he had been a man dedicated to his job, but she still believe that his line of work was a bit… questionable. He had told her he had been a sort of life-coach, and that he had experience with profiling, but she knew that there was something he wasn't telling her, something he didn't want to share, out of shame or fear, she wasn't sure.

But God, she wanted to know it- and moreover, she wanted for Jane to tell her.

"Sometimes it is." And his tone told her it was the end of the conversation. And, just in case she didn't get it and wanted to ask any more questions… "Oh, the waitress! We can order now." Talking about changing topic to drive her attention away from the main subject.

"Jane…." She tried to say, because she knew he needed to talk. She had been closed off for way too long to not know the feel, the need to share but the fear hidden behind every words, fear of being judged, dismissed.

But Jane was Jane, and he read people for a living- or at least, he used to, according to his words- and knew what she was doing, and didn't want to play her game. He wasn't ready to talk with a stranger about his past and his faults, maybe he never would be, and Lisbon didn't deserve to be the Mother Teresa of the situation.

"Ehy, you know, I looked at some old projects of the building when I started to work on my apartment, and there's a passage between your apartment and my own."

"A secret passage?" she asked, thrilled, and he grinned. Teresa was a real detective, and her youthful mirth, her natural curiosity was probably the main reason behind her chosen profession. _I bet she is a fan of Sherlock Holmes, _he wondered.

"Nothing so fancy, just a communication door of some kind." He paused, and played with his tea. He had started to talk just to distract her, but now he was getting interested, and he liked seeing that light in her eyes, the sparkle of curiosity that showed how much she still enjoyed life underneath her façade of boring professionalism. "Our apartments seem a little smaller than in the original projects, so I think that the passage hadn't been walled up, but that the walls had rather been built _around _the passage."

She looked in front of herself, lost in her thought, concentrated. "So, if someone would bring down the walls, the passage could be used again…"

Jane didn't know if cough or laugh at her sudden idea, whatever it could mean. "Why, you want to make a midnight booty call? I have to tell you, Lisbon, I'm feeling rather used right now. Like a boy toy."

"Don't." she simply said, stern, although with cheeks in flames, pointing a finger at him. She was scared, he knew it, and it amused him to no end. He simply adored seeing her losing her cool, and all because of him.

"Too late, Lisbon. Tomorrow morning I'll start looking for the walls and then I'll proceed to bring them down. And you'll not be allowed to say a word about it, because remember: it was your idea." He pointed his own finger at her in answer, his eyes amused. Teresa didn't know when he was at his most charming, when he was happy and carefree, or when he seemed dark, lost, in need of protection and saving.

Teresa groaned, shaking her head at closed eyes. "Why, why do you always have to transform every word we share in something sexual?"

"Because I find you to be a very sexual woman, hidden behind the tough cop and the Catholic guilt. And," he admitted with total nonchalance, like he was talking about the weather or what was in at Broadway nowadays. "Because I'm attracted to you."

"Sure…." She said, her voice dripping sarcasm, despite her sparkling eyes.

"Listen, I know you think, and say, that we are very different, but let me assure you something: it doesn't mean anything. You are a very desirable woman, and I am attracted to you. That's it."

She shook her head. She wasn't stupid, she knew in what kind of word they lived- and she knew that she wasn't his type, couldn't be. So, there had to be something there, something he wasn't saying, that he couldn't bring himself to tell her- ergo, the deceiving. "I think you are just trying to distract me. I don't know from what yet…"

He stopped her with a nervous laugh. "You think I have some secrets." Which was true, but it wasn't like he was going to share them. Not with Teresa, and not when it was still so painful.

"I think you were much more than a profiler or a life coach, I think there's something you aren't telling me," she paused, her eyes low, sad, but sweet. She felt like salvation, forgiveness, like second chances, and he didn't' know if he deserved her. "And I think there is a reason why you left it all behind."

He opened his mouth to speak, but then, he didn't. He tried, again and again, not because he wanted to, but because Teresa's voice and her desires were like a siren's call, but not a single syllable was heard. Feeling that he was close to a panic attack, and that he needed some kind of comfort, Teresa took his hand in her own, and massaged the callous skin. Traitorous tears left his eyes, and Teresa believed that he wasn't going to talk with her, but then, he did.

And she couldn't believe what he was telling her, with a voice filled with hate, regret and sadness.

"It's my fault if my wife… my daughter… are dead."

"Jane…" she said. She didn't know what else she could add. She didn't know what he meant. She knew he was a widow, but she hadn't asked him what had happened to his wife (frankly, he was so… carefree that she had believed she had been sick, and that he had had time to adjust to the idea of her being gone) and that was the first time he was talking about a daughter. _A daughter._ My god, she felt like crying. Whatever had happened, it had probably broken his heart- she had seen many men surviving their children in her line of work, and knew how devastating it could be.

"Jane, are you…" She grimaced as she didn't end the sentence. She was probably going to ask him if it was a dramatization of some kind. Everybody would have said that yes, it was and he was exaggerating- even his in-laws had said so- but he had never seen it that way.

"You see…" he started, and then he paused. Speaking about his past was never easy, and he hated himself in that instant. He couldn't understand why he had hinted about what had happened. But now… now, he had told Teresa he didn't have any secrets. And if he wanted for her to believe him, and if he wanted for her to understand why for him it was so important that she understood that there was more than money and work in life, then, he owed her an explanation. The truth.

"I grew up in the carny circuit, and since an early age it was clear that I had a particular… sensibility, let's say. My father built a show around me, Patrick Jane, brain boy, psychic kid. Then… I grew up. And I met Angela." He paused. "My wife. She was carnie material too. We got married as soon as possible, and escaped together. But… there wasn't a lot we could do. So we keep doing what we had done until that day."

"You conned people?" she asked, but there was no judgment in her voice. Only softness, and sadness for him- for his past.

He nodded. "After a while, things started to go pretty well- more than well, actually. From carnie kid, I became a small celebrity. I had it all, Teresa. The look, the name, the money… so much money, more than I could have spent." He shook his head, disgusted with himself. "Long before I hit 30, I had a vintage car collection worth of millions, I wore only Armani and Calvin Klein and that picture you saw at my place?" he asked. "That was my house. That's where I lived."

She opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her. He shook his head, and went on with his story. "But it was never enough. I was raised in poverty, my father drinking away all the money we made, and I didn't want that for my daughter, but it was all a lie. I just never had enough of it, the more I had, the more I wanted." He paused again. "Angela asked me to stop conning people. She told me that I could keep helping the police, like I sometimes did, but telling them the truth. That I didn't need to pose as a psychic any longer. But… I couldn't stop, Teresa, and whenever someone asked me to… I was always there for them, complete strangers, and when my family needed me…"

"Oh, Jane…" she said, her voice soft. If he didn't want to keep talking, it was enough for her. She didn't want to see him suffer furthermore, she didn't want to add more pain to his suffering soul.

"One evening, Charlotte had gone to see a friend. I was supposed to get her and then come back home, but a woman called. She wanted to know what her late husband would have said about her entering in certain businesses. So I called Angela and told her that I wasn't going to be home and to think about Charlotte. We argued, she told me she didn't recognize me any longer, that I wasn't the man she had married. Bad things were said." He took a big breath, like to give himself courage, like saying those words our loud was causing him physical pain, like he needed strength and courage. "Bad things were said on both sides, and I hang up on her. I was so angry... I felt like she didn't understand me. That I was doing it all for her. For _them._ "

"Jane… I'm so sorry…" she murmured, holding his hands with even more strength. She didn't know yet what the outcome of his story was, but she felt a familiar pain in her chest. It was an old pain, something she had struggled with in her whole adult life. Here, she saw the pain she had once felt reflected on his handsome, sweet features; it was something she would have never wished for to her worst enemy, let alone someone… someone like _him. _

"Angela… she took one of my cars and went to get Charlotte, but… it had rained that afternoon, and the road was still wet. And she, she had never been a good driver, but I thought… I hoped…but…" Struggling with words and the pain that had never left him for over two years, he paused again, and cried. She didn't remember another time she had seen such an heartbreaking image, and she felt like crying, too. A part of Lisbon wanted to open up to him, share her own experience, because in that moment, she felt like there was still good, hope in the world. _Not all the men are the same, _she thought. _Not all of them choose a bottle. Not all of them make other suffer because of their pain._

"She called me, but I was busy with this client, and so, so mad… I screened my calls, Teresa. I didn't answer her… and… and…" He closed his eyes, and it felt like yesterday, like some out-of-body experience. Here he was, chatting with this old, rich client of his, with Angela's name flashing on the display. He grimaced as he imagined, remembered himself refusing the call, and a part of him, every time he revived the experience, wanted to reach out for his old self, and beg him to just change his mind, show the love he felt for her. But it was stupid, and childish. That wasn't an out-of-body experience, and he couldn't change the past, nor get in touch with that man. Angela and Charlotte were gone: and a part of him with them.

"A cop I used to work with showed up at my study not long after, and told me of the incident. I talked with the paramedics, and… they told me that Charlotte didn't suffer, and that… that it was a good thing that I didn't answered the phone and talked with Angela, that it would have made it just worse. That she couldn't' be saved, and that listening to her dying wouldn't have done me any good."

As he said the last few words, Jane concentrated all of his attention on his cup of tea. He couldn't bring himself to look at Teresa. He felt physical pain, and a fresh gush of rage filling his whole being. She was going to look at him with those huge green eyes of hers, and she would condemn him, hate him. And he couldn't have that. He hated himself enough, he accepted if others felt the same, but not Teresa. He could have never endured it.

"Jane. It wasn't your fault." She said, cupping his cheek. It was more than a statement, more than affirmation, and even if it was the same thing that many others had told him, even if Danny repeated it almost once a week, he had never believed it. How could he, after all, when he was the kind of man who was eaten alive by the need of fame and money who refused his wife's call?

"The next day I found in my mail the check from that woman. I threw it away and left everything behind."

"It's horrible, Jane." She said, closing her eyes. One of her hands was still holding his like for dear life, and finally she understood it all. The reason he still wore his wedding ring. Why he, sometimes, seemed lost and sad. She understood it, oh, how she understood it all! "I'm so sorry for your loss, Jane…"

"_They _lost their lives." He said, firmly. With a sudden movement, he regained control of his hand. He didn't need her pity right now. Now, he wanted rage and hate, wanted for her to tell him that she agreed with him. He didn't feel like listening to her talking about her Catholic upbringing, how his little girl was in a better place, looking from afar at her daddy.

But Teresa shook her head. She knew the feeling, and she knew that in that story, like in her own, everybody had lost something. For the first time, she saw him all, and she felt like she could finally know him, the real Patrick Jane, not just a hot guy flirting with her every chance he got, but a man with an heavy burden on his heart, haunted by the same ghosts that visited her soul every change they got. The kind of man who could steal her heart away- that could take it and break it. A man who, just like the red dress, wasn't suited for her.

As they walked back home, she shook her head. Jane wasn't right for her and her plans; he wasn't looking for an adventure, just like she did, but at the same time, he wasn't ready for commitment, and she would have never lived with the fear of being second best, a replacement for him. Ray was the kind of man who was right for her. Her attraction for Jane was just that, simple lust.

She turned to look at him, and saw that he was lost in his thoughts. She wondered if he regretted having shred his history with her, such private and personal details.

"Thanks for lunch." She said, trying to get him back there. She didn't wanted him there for her- but neither she wanted to see him hunted by his past. "Even if it's almost dinner time." She sighed as she realized the time. She already knew that she would have to stay up all night and work nonstop on Sunday.

"You are going to work all night long." Jane simply stated. They had known each other for less than two weeks, and yet, he already understood her- even if he didn't seem to appreciate too much her dedication and her crazy schedule.

"Yeah. I just hope that Bertram will remember that I'm off-duty today and will have mercy on me for not having answered to all the calls I'm sure he did despite knowing that I already worked overtime this whole week so I should be allowed to rest for few hours."

Jane lifted his eyebrows. "Is he the guy who kept calling you the other time?"

She nodded in conformation, her hands crossed at her back like a schoolgirl. "Yeah. And, oh, DA Ardilles too. We closed few huge cases, and there's a lot of pressure for the trials." She paused, sighing. "Also, Bertram forgets that people are allowed to have a life, and that the world doesn't resolve around him. Guess who got a knife wound while stopping a serial killer, and who, instead, behaved like a peacock for the press?"

If she expected compassion, pity, she didn't have it. Instead, Jane went from brutal sincerity. "Yes, he probably did it. But you allow him to get away with this every time, don't you?" She didn't need to answer: they both knew the truth, and to her ears it felt like an insult.

"It's his job. More than an agent, he is a politician. _If_ and _when_ I'll be in his position, I'll probably do the same. That's life." She didn't meet his eyes as, once outside their building, she blindly looked for her keys in her purse, she didn't want for Jane to see the real truth in her eyes, that she was sick and tired and scared that Bertram saw her as a chess piece, an obstacle and a means at the same time.

But, there was something she needed to tell him, before they parted.

She turned to face Jane, and with the breath dying in her throat, she admitted to herself, and him, how sad she was that the day was over. "Thanks for the abduction, Jane."

He tsk-tsked her, his back against the wall right before their apartments. "Be careful what you say, Lisbon, or people will assume you're suffering from Stockholm syndrome." He joked, his smile still in place. But now she knew the truth, and could see the deep shadows underneath his eyes, the sparkle not so vivid as she had previously assumed. She suddenly wished to have meet in his previous life, just to see how he was.

"Don't hold your breath." She said, smiling. She didn't want to admit to him that yes, he could be the kind of tormented man she could fall easily for.

Jane looked at her with such an intensity that no man had ever felt for her, and the breath died in her throat. He got closer and closer, and without breaking eye-contact, he arranged a runaway lock of hair behind her right ear. She closed her eyes and felt his warmth, his finger lingering on her skin, skimming her cheek, her lips, her neck, the tender spot where it met her shoulder.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" he asked. His voice was husky, and she could feel that it took him some effort to talk.

She opened her eyes and stared at him. He was still touching her, and she didn't know what to think. Or feel. "I… Grocery Shopping?" God helped her, she didn't know why it had come out as a question.

"Can I come over and do some work on your kitchen?" he asked, lazily playing with the fabric of her blouse on her shoulder. His touch was electric, and she couldn't concentrate. She knew and saw only his lips. Did he want to kiss her again? Because, even if she had forbidden him from doing so, she was tempted to allow his mouth to descend upon hers. "And maybe… I could show you where I think the passage is."

Ah. Dangerous, dangerous waters. She could almost see herself struggling for air, strong waves bringing her far away from the seaside against her own will. "Yeah. I'd like that."

"Good." he said, gripping her shoulder. "Then, I'll see you tomorrow. Good Night, Teresa. And try to get some rest."

She saw Jane getting closer and closer, and waited for his kiss, but after a lingering peck of his lips on the corner of her mouth, he was gone. He turned, and went to his own apartment, leaving her alone and unsatisfied. She tried to call him back, but her voice failed her, and not a single word left her mouth.

God, she was in serious trouble.


	8. Chapter 8

Thanks to each one of you guys, following, favoriting and leaving reviews, you are the best!

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The following morning, after few, turbulent hours of sleep, Teresa had still in her mind what had happened the previous day. After a quick shower, she gave a look at all the documents she was supposed to complete and check, but sighed, realizing that there was no way she could actually do it: her mind was filled by Jane. So, she decided to do what she did every time she couldn't concentrate on her job: she cleaned, just like someone affected by an obsessive-convulsive disorder would.

She had already cleaned her bedroom and her bathroom, and was looking forward the fridge, when someone knocked at her door; her heart stopped beating, and she knew that, without shadow of doubt, it was Jane on the other side of the door. She looked around, a bit panicking, then went back in her room, and rearranged her hair checking into her vanity mirror. Like every time she cleaned, she was wearing old, big clothes, and there wasn't a lot she could do about it, but at least she was still presentable.

When she opened the door, she saw that Jane wasn't just presentable: even if his curls were all over the place and he had a stubble, he seemed like one of the guys from the pages of _Sexy Men. _

"Hello Lisbon." He said, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, the posture and the plaid shirt showing off his biceps and the tanned skin. "You don't happen to have decent tea, do you?"

Lisbon moved away to let him in, and rolled her eyes. He wasn't fooling anyone: the circles under his eyes were darker than the previous day, a clear indication that he hadn't slept much. She wasn't surprised, though, given what he had shared with her. The same had happened to her too- only, her night had been short and agitated because of work and because of her hormones, that kept remembering her how much she was attracted to that fine specimen of a man.

"Ehy, I like the scent. It's lilac, right?" he sniffed around like a K-9 dog, making her quite uneasy. "I have to admit, though, I am partial to lemon-scented soaps."

She bit her lips. "Well, you know, I always wake up early, and since I didn't have to get to the office today, I cleaned up a bit." She shrugged, like it was nothing. At her side, Jane shook his head and sighed. He didn't mind Teresa's mess-also because he was curious to discover if the old saying about messy woman making good lovers was true.

"So," he said, looking around. He cleared his throat, and Teresa saw that his usual arrogance was now gone. His eyes told her he wanted to talk about something serious, and she imagined it was about what he had told her the previous days about his family. But, she wasn't going to pry. If he wanted to talk about it, so be it. Otherwise, it wasn't going to be a problem for her. After all, she knew it all about troubling pasts and the difficulty of sharing such intimate details.

Without saying a word, she went into her kitchen, and put on the kettle for his tea and boiling water for her coffee. He joined her, and made an "uhm" sound, lifting his perfect blonde eyebrow. "Why am I not surprised that you are always ready for everything?"

She didn't even bother to answer, she just smiled. After a very long pause, while they were sipping their beverages of choice, he looked at his feet and took a big breath. "Listen…" he said, massaging the back of his neck. "I'm sorry that I… bothered you yesterday with my story and with my interminable list of sins."

She shook her head, making a strange movement with her noise, that reminded him of Samantha in _Bewitched. _He smiled, understanding that she hadn't minded it all and that he was in the clear, and, as he moved past her, he bumped into her shoulder, his silent and not too physical way of saying thank you.

"If you don't mind, I was thinking about taking the measurements for your new window." He suddenly said, looking at the point on the wall where he could already see the light enter, bathing the apartment in sunshine.

"Jane, really, there's no need." Teresa said, joining him, standing on her tiptoes, hands in the pockets of her trousers. It wasn't like she didn't want a window there- because she loved even just the idea. It was having Jane there, for such a long time, mostly shirtless, that troubled her (with delicious shivers along her spine). "I mean, it's not even your job…"

It was his time to roll his eyes, and somehow, even if she was at his back, she knew exactly what he was doing. "I took courses, Lisbon. _Renovation for Dummies_ was just the first step, for your information."

"Right" she said, more to herself than to him. As he was making measurements, she took a seat on a nearby chair, and looked at him. "Don't you miss it? I mean, not the conning…" she said, blushing. "Although, I guess you could miss it too. Not that I think you do, but… anyway. I mean, what you did with the Police. The… profiling or whatever it was you did."

He stopped what he was doing, and leaned against the wall. His eyes were firmly set on Teresa's, and she felt like she could read him as much as he did with her, in that moment. "Sometimes, but…" he paused. "I'm just scared that I would think too much about the past, were I to come back."

"So, you prefer doing this? Putting back in order an apartment you could or could not sell afterward, and work on my kitchen in the meanwhile to keep yourself busy?"

Jane smiled at her, shaking his head. He couldn't understand why Teresa wanted that much to get a promotion that would take her out of the field. During his years as a Police Consultant- his official position- he had seen his good share of detectives, and Teresa Lisbon was one of the best he had ever met. She had a good intuition, and, as she had just showed, she could read people and understand them. Putting her behind a desk was, in his opinion, a waste.

"Actually, I work on your kitchen because you apparently know how to make decent tea and," he paused, and eyed her lasciviously. "for other perks."

She blushed, and didn't even bother to try to hide it; after all, there was a good chance that Jane was doing it on purpose. They stayed in silence for a short while, either staring at each other with mixed emotions, or looking away. Until Jane spoke again, his voice so low it was almost a whisper, and Lisbon wondered if he knew he was talking at all or if he was just thinking out loud. Either way, his confession was heartbreaking, and again she felt the need to touch him, comfort him with her own warmth-but it was a luxury she couldn't afford, so she resisted temptation.

"I'm just scared. Scared that if I do that again, I'll end up conning people as well. That I'll betray their memory by… by returning to be that man." She didn't speak, just looked at him, not with curiosity, but with such an intensity Jane felt like she was looking right through him. "I know what you think, but I'm not running from what I am. I am just trying to honor my family's memory."

_By running away from what I am and what I've always done, _he thought, but he didn't need to add it at loud. It was a truth they both knew, and there was no need to acknowledge it at loud, to let Teresa judge him. He did some small-maintenance on her kitchen, and then looked at the sketch he had done and showed it to her. They talked about it, and if he really felt like working on her apartment (yes, he did- it wasn't like he had anything better to do with his time), then, when he was done and ready to go back home, his hand already on the doorknob, he remembered what he had promised her the previous day.

Smiling cheerfully, he got closer and closer, until he leaned over her, and whispered in her ear his question. "Tell me, Teresa, do you still want to see the passage?"

"Uhm?" made Teresa, her mind filled by his scent, unable to understand anything at all. Then, she remembered what he was talking about, and she shook her head out of her reverie. "Oh, yes, sure." She said, blushing. Actually, she didn't care that much about the passage, but Jane didn't seem to want to leave, and she needed to put some distance between them, if she wanted to resist temptation.

Big Mistake.

He took her hand, and dragged her in a secluded alcove she had closed with a heavy, dark green curtain; behind it, she had used the place to store all kinds of things, from old shoes to non-perishable food. Jane didn't say a word as he saw the mass of shelves, just turned to look at her with a lifted eyebrow. He was tempted to make a joke about the supermarket around the corner being probably envious of her, but he decided not to. Teresa could not own his "memory palace", but she wasn't going to forget that he had told her the same thing about her fridge. And he liked Teresa too much: tempting her ire was the last thing on his mind.

"Listen." he said as he knocked on all the walls, and then, last, on the wall that was supposed to divide their apartments; it was clear that it sounded different, and that the wall wasn't filled, but empty. "This is where there's the corridor. I can almost see it, you know? During the Civil War, over there, in my apartment, there was the big dining room of the lord of the house, and here," he said, indicating her own kitchen. "Here there was the kitchen. The servants probably walked through this corridor to bring the food on the table of their masters."

"Ah, to have someone taking care of my plates…." Teresa smirked a little. "I wouldn't mind to have such a service, every once in a while." She laughed, blushing.

Jane turned to see her, his back against one of the shelves. "You know…" he whispered, playing with a lock of hair looking into her green eyes. "My offer still stand."

Teresa mimicked his position, putting some space between them. She looked for his eyes, searching for the truth. "We both know that your offer will only bring me to your bedroom."

"Maybe," he said, getting closer to her again, his low and sensual voice making her desire to let it go and fall into his arms, no matter the consequences. Maybe… maybe, just once, she could do it. "Or maybe… maybe you are the one seeing sexual messages everywhere."

She lowered her eyes as he grinned, suddenly ashamed of herself, regretting her feelings and her behavior. She felt like he had slapped her, like he was making fun of her, and she didn't like it. She moved away from the position as soon as she could, and started to pretend to be busy putting in order the boxes of food. Jane felt her frustration, and shook his head, damning himself: that wasn't how he had planned this to go.

"Lisbon… there's no need for you to do this." he told her, stopping her from compulsively putting everything in order, but she resisted and kept going on anyway. He put a hand on her own, and smiled, tenderly. "You were one of those kids who, at school, put her crayons in rows and got mad if someone touched them, right?"

She snapped, turning into his sort of embrace. "Let me guess: you weren't."

"I didn't go to school." Jane said, shaking his head with a bit of sadness. "Carnie people take care of their own. Don't trust outsiders." He touched a row of cans, and they fell onto the ground. Teresa jumped, and immediately went on her knees and started to put them back in order. As she was done, she was closing her eyes tightly to prevent the tears from escaping.

"My father used to forget to buy food." She admitted. She didn't know exactly why she hadn't stopped herself from saying the words: she had always kept that information for herself, even her little brothers weren't aware of that fact, but she had had enough, she couldn't deal with Jane making fun of her and her habits, as crazy and absurd as they could be.

"Your father…" He started, but couldn't bring himself to end the sentence. He had guessed that Teresa had gone through some ordeal with her family in her youth, but he would have never guessed that his hypothesis- that one of her parents could have been an alcoholic- could have been that right, and could have had such consequences.

"After my mother died, life wasn't easy for him, and sometimes…" She paused, her eyes looking everywhere but at him. "sometimes he just forgot." She shook her head and moved away, back into the kitchen. She hated pity, and pity was exactly what she was seeing on his face. She should have never talked: some things were meant to be kept a secret.

Jane shook his head, sad, as he looked at her washing their cups, wondering if she liked to stockpile food because of her father. Jane's own father had never been a great example for his son, but even when he spent their money on women and drinks, he never forgot to leave something for the groceries.

His closed his fists, feeling a rage he had only felt once in his life, towards himself; he had never met Teresa's father, and it was just the second time that the cop mentioned him, and yet, Jane hated him, in a primal way. God. No wonder Teresa was so scared of getting close to others: she feared they would hurt her like her father had done. Poor woman. How many things did she miss in her life because of the ghosts of her past?

"You aren't from Sacramento, right?" He asked, his voice low and soft, delicate as a caress. He wanted to know everything about her- he had to. "There's still a hint of an accent… mid-west?"

"I was born in Chicago, actually." She answered. She was smiling, but he could see that there was a trace of sadness in her. He looked into her eyes, and he could almost see her, going back into the past, reviving her life in the Wind City. There had been a time when Teresa Lisbon had been happy in Chicago, probably a child like any other, and right now, she was clinging desperately to that memory, hoping to not drown into misery.

"You still have family over there'?" he asked again, getting closer and closer. He wasn't touching her intentionally, and yet, his elbow was brushing against the soft and jasmine-scented skin of her forearm. Their skins burned at the touch, and yet, neither of them cared. It was probably what they both needed: something to remember that, in that moment, they weren't alone.

"My brothers James and Michael do, while the youngest, Tommy and his daughter live here in Sacramento. When they are not chasing criminals."

He made a face, and she rolled her eyes at him. "He is a bounty hunter who can't afford a baby-sitter and whose ex-wife is too busy chasing future ex-husbands to look after her own daughter every now and then." She paused. "And you? Brothers, sisters?"

"None that I know of, but I've spent my whole adult life waiting for the instant my half-sibling will show up, looking for father dearest." He looked at her with mirth in his eyes, despite the topic, and like Teresa he felt finally free: it was the first time he was talking about his family- his blood one- with someone outside the carnie world. "Well, technically I'm an only son, but Daddy dearest has always been a womanizer, and I wouldn't be surprised if he had more than one son around, and my mum…" He shook his head. "I don't really remember a lot about her. She went back to her home when I was four, but last I heard, she never had any other children."

"My mother died when I was twelve" Teresa said when she saw that he wasn't asking her of her parents, probably because of the words they had shared about her childhood. "And my father…."

She paused, and when she looked away for a fraction of second, her eyes teary, he understood that the man wasn't in the picture any longer. She shook herself, like to give herself strength, took a big breath, and then went on. She wasn't sure why she was telling him this, but she felt she needed to. Maybe it was because it was time, maybe it was because she had kept it buried for too long, or maybe it was because Jane had been hurt too, was far from perfect, and would have never judged her or her past… but once she started, she couldn't stop.

"My father killed himself when I was sixteen, opened the gas while he was too drunk to remember that his own children were inside."

He froze inside, and felt the need to hug her, and cover her with kisses and caresses. He wanted to tell her that he wanted to help her to stop the ghosts of her past that kept chasing her. But he couldn't: as much as he felt for Teresa, he couldn't make promises of everlasting love and happily ever after, not when the blood of his family was on his hands.

And yet… yet, she needed him. So, he hugged her, and when her face was buried in his chest, he all but ordered her to follow him- to meet his family.

* * *

"I didn't think that your family was buried here…" She told him, surprised, as they walked slowly and in silence across the monumental Cemetery. Jane didn't answer her, just kept walking in the shadows of the pines, until he didn't stop in front of two simple gravestones, completely identical; there wasn't any age indicated, nor the dates of birth and death, only their names: _Charlotte Anne Jane, Angela Ruskin-Jane. _

Jane knelt on the grass, and arranged a bouquet of violets on his daughter's grave, and put some poppies on his wife's tombstone. Teresa wanted to tell him how sorry she was for him and for them, but decided to keep it quiet. Jane had told her it had been over two years, but she still remembered people's condolences, when they told her how sorry they were for her loss- and she had hated every single one of them. What did it mean? What was going to change? Nothing- and she felt like he had gone through enough of that, just like she had, many years before.

"When Charlie was born, Angela's family left the circuit and moved here. And, well, it's not like I've spent such a long time in Malibu since…" He paused, his breathing heavy. "Since it happened. They practically abducted me and decided to kind of adopt me as a honorary member of the family, told me that they felt alone because Danny had moved out. But I just couldn't go on like that. And when I saw your building, I remembered a time I visited the old owner, and decided that I just had to move in there."

He turned to look at Teresa, and smiling he took her hand, and brought her down on the grass with him. They were so close that their sides were practically attached.

"Is it ridiculous that I don't believe in ghosts or the afterlife, and yet I talk with her?" He asked Teresa, seriously puzzled by his own question. It had never been a problem for him, but now he guessed that someone, knowing his beliefs, could be surprised, but Teresa wasn't.

She shook her head, smiling, and took his hand, squeezing it. "Is it ridiculous that I talk to my mom's picture on my nightstand?" Jane didn't answer, but acknowledged that there was something that made them more similar than what they wanted to believe by squeezing her hand; still holding Teresa's hand, he turned to face his family's graves again, and started talking with them.

"Did you see, Annie? I came with Teresa. I told you about her, do you remember?"

Teresa was honestly shocked- and somehow, flattered as well. Even if she wondered if it was a common practice, to talk with your dead wife about the woman you are heavily flirting with and/or trying to get in bed. "You talked about _me? _With _her?_"

"Annie and I talk about everything" he wrinkled his nose. "Actually, _I _tell her everything. And she listens. Or, you know..." he gesticulated with his hand in the air; it was clear to Teresa that Jane's discussions with his dead wife were more a therapeutic exercise than anything else, but she didn't mind. She did believe that she could listen to him, and she hoped she knew he had good intentions and meant no disrespect. Just like she did as well.

"I told Teresa about you. And I thought it was time I introduced the two of you." Teresa squeezed his hand, and let her thoughts wander to Angela Jane. Patrick had said a bit about his wife, but he had left many things unsaid. And yet, his eyes and his body language had told a story about a great love, something… epic.

_What an incredible woman, _Jane thought as he saw Teresa smiling at his side. She was keeping quiet, and yet he felt like, in her mind, she was having quite the discussion with his wife. And still, here she was, with him, almost a stranger, and yet someone she had opened up with. The thought exited him, and he realized that he hadn't felt such euphoria in a long time, since he had met Angela when he was just a kid.

Jane talked about his week with his wife for a while; his monologue was full of enthusiasm, despite everything, and Teresa wondered more than once if he wasn't getting tired, but his voice didn't show any sign of fatigue. _If she can hear you, Jane, I'm sure she is touched._

He said a few other words, and caressed his daughter's grave, and then they went back home. While they were driving in his car, a vintage robin egg blue Citroen DS, he told her he was sorry if he was being too quiet. "It's stupid, but, it's exhausting." He blushed, and she smiled- she liked this side of him far more than any other she had seen so far. They stayed in silence, even if there was a lot that Teresa wanted to tell him, but any word seemed too much and inappropriate. Also, she had seen what he thought about his role in his family's deaths; telling him that it wasn't his fault, that he was a good man could have made him angry, and she didn't want to see him irritated. She rubbed his knee out of instinct, but when she saw her hand on the old jeans, she took it away as if it burned.

"I was thinking…." Jane started as he looked at her retreating hand with the corner of his eye. "There's a nice diner on this street. If you wanted something, we could always…"

But she stopped him with pleading eyes. "I really can't, Jane." She said, and he could almost see in her eyes the sheets of paper accumulating. She was probably thinking about how behind she was with the paperwork, and that she still had to finish cleaning and then the groceries and then, and then…

Well, he guessed there was no end to Teresa Lisbon's to-do list. "It's ok, you have a lot of things to do, I get it." His tone quite harsh as he tried to block her out of his vision field. He hoped that she understood why he was mad with her: he had showed her where his family was buried because he felt it was because of his absolute dedication to his "job" that he had lost them, but Teresa didn't seem to have gotten the message that there were things that were important in life.

"We are not the same." She suddenly said. She was fisting the fabric of her slacks, her mouth in a thigh line. She saw Jane opening his mouth to reply, but she shook her head and went on. "I left Chicago because when people looked at me, they saw the daughter of a delusional drunk, they looked at me and they said, poor thing, she'll end just like him. But I'm not like him. People expected me to fail, Jane…"

Jane snorted. "My life hasn't been a bed of roses either, princess." He said, with a hint of disrespect. Frankly, he was starting to have enough. He wasn't judging her: he just wanted to help, but Teresa didn't want to see it like that. For her, life was only as she saw it. "And I get that you have been through a lot, but at least _you _can look at yourself in the mirror. You can be proud of what you did. Me? I conned people. And because I couldn't stop, I lost them! My daughter, Teresa! I buried my four years old! How do you think it feels, uh?"

Teresa shook her head, her eyes filled with sadness and tenderness. "It's not your fault, Jane…" She said, a hand on his shoulder. In answer, the blonde man abruptly turned the wheel, and parked on the side of the road, squealing off.

"Why can't you stop it!?" he practically screamed, his eyes teary. "It _was_ my fault! I was too busy convincing an old lady that her dead husband wanted to have their money invested to answer my phone… and I left them there to die!"

He still remembered clearly when he had seen Angela's family that day, and the discussion with the investigators. Everybody kept telling him it wasn't his fault and it was better he hadn't answered, for listening to her dying would have been too much for him to handle. He still remembered that he had looked outside the window, and seen his reflection, hair perfect and an expensive suit. All the feeling buried for over two years exploded, and he hit the wheel with his closed fist, again and again and again, repeating the same sentence in his mind every time his flesh connected with the leather. _I should have answered. I should have been there for them. _

"Jane… Jane, no…" Teresa begged, crying, grabbing his arm and trying to keep him steady. She wasn't one for crying, far from it, but how Jane was behaving remembered her all too well of all the times her father had gotten mad because of his wife's loss, times when, after having crashed whatever was close by, he eventually ended up hitting her. "Jane, it was an incident. It wasn't your fault."

"I should have gone to get Charlotte as Angela had asked me! I should have been the one on that road!"

Teresa shook her head. "And maybe you would have died with your daughter… but you can't know for sure that nothing would have happened! You told me that the road wasn't in top condition…"

"But maybe they were wrong…" he said, shaking his head, his voice low. He was starting to sob, but no tears were leaving his eyes. Not for the first time, Teresa wondered if he hadn't already cried all of them. "Maybe she was still alive and if I had answered the phone…" he paused, and when he spoke again his voice was low, just a whisper. "It's my responsibility. Why can't people… why can't_ you_ see it?"

"If it's true, then am I responsible because my father was an alcoholic who abused his children." she asked. There was no trace of shame, sadness or regret in her voice or her expression, she was just resolute. In that moment, Jane wondered if she had ever been that much at peace with her past as she was there and then. She took his hand, squeezing it, her eyes teary, but he could see it wasn't for herself: her tears were for him. "When he was alive, I never told anyone what he did. He was the Chief of the Chicago Fire Department, and he was good at hiding it… I didn't know if people was going to believe me, and even if they did… I didn't want to lose my brothers. We were already broken because of our parents, at least, the four of us had to stick together. So I didn't say anything, and when he hit me, there was always an excuse I could make. Even when he broke my arm."

"Teresa, it's not the same thing." He said. His eyes were teary as well, his voice soft. His free hand cupped her face, and he was skimming over her skin with reverence and softness, like the most delicate caress. "You were just a child, and he was sick. Me… I was just… too caught up in myself."

He wasn't going to lie: he was grateful for Teresa's attempt to make him feel better, but nothing was going to change what had happened, he was still going to live with his ghosts and his guilt- and the fear that he could get back to what he had once been with just one wrong move.

Teresa couldn't handle it that any longer: she knew where Jane mind was, and that, if he kept thinking like that, he would eventually say things he would get to regret. Just the idea of listening to him describing what he thought of who he once had been was scaring her, breaking her heart in millions of tiny little pieces. So, she did the first thing she could think of, the only thing she believe could give him comfort: she kissed him. But even if it was to make him remember that he wasn't alone, and that he had been there for her, what Teresa hadn't predicted was the fire that burned once their lips touched. Jane answered her kiss, and her mind went blank: she had never been kissed like that, not from Ray nor from any other, and even if she knew that it was dangerous and that there was no way to control what was happening between them, she couldn't put an end to it.

When they finally parted for air, Jane too was speechless and the only thing he could say was _what._

Teresa shook her head, purring as he run his fingers through her dark hair. It wasn't the way she usually acted, but there was something in her that seemed to say that she couldn't do otherwise.

Jane got closer again, and again he captured her lips in a kiss, slow and sensual. She moaned in his mouth as their tongues touched, and when he parted, just a breath of air between them, she could feel on her mouth his hot breath, and her eyes couldn't move past his pale, full lips. He skimmed with his index over her features, and she closed her eyes at the sensation.

"Come with me, Teresa." He all but whispered. "Let's get home."

And like she always did, she once again allowed Jane to sweep her off her feet.


	9. Chapter 9

Thanks to each one of you guys, following, favoriting and leaving reviews, you are the best... I am so sorry if I am behind with answering, but I swear I'll do it in the next few days! scout's honor!

* * *

At the end, Teresa had realized with satisfaction that she had been right all along about Jane's tube: it was perfect for two, and the sensation of being immersed in the warm water and the soft bubbles, with his face nuzzling her neck, was the equivalent of paradise. And yet, when she had dried herself and had walked back to his living room with just a towel around her body, the doubts and the fears had come back with a passion, only to disappear once again when she saw that he was sitting on his couch with just a pair of old tracksuit bottoms.

She couldn't help it: every time she saw him, especially if there was a certain quantity of naked skin involved, she couldn't help but want him.

"Are you relaxed?" he asked with a grin, patting the empty space on the couch and throwing his mobile on the small coffee table.

Lisbon rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest; she wasn't being modest- he had seen plenty of her during their two close encounters in the last few hours, but she wanted to let him know she was kind of mad that he was dismissing his psychological issues just like that. "I wasn't the one who needed comfort, Jane."

He smiled, his eyes shining. His surname had never sounded so sexy and sinful, or even just so beautiful, like when that single syllable left her mouth.

"C'mon Lisbon" he said, patting again the empty space next to him, using her surname just like she did with him. "Get over here and stop thinking. Your thoughts are hurting my head."

"You can't read my thoughts, Jane." She laughed, rolling her eyes. "I'm not sure I've ever…" she started, but he stopped her, his thumb rubbing her lip.

"I know." he said, his eyes lost in her green gems. "Trust me, Teresa, I know." She knew that "new Jane" was carefree, but she felt like he knew exactly what he was talking about, and more than her second thoughts, she wondered if _he _had any; after all, wasn't she the first woman he had been intimate with after his wife's lost? Was he comparing them in his head? What did it mean for him?

"Stop. Thinking." He said, his words punctuated by languid kisses on her neck. He was going to leave marks there, and she couldn't care any less despite being aware that everybody the following day would have known of her secret liaison- Ray included.

"Mmm…" She purred, leaning in his touch; his hand was traveling south, grabbing a feel of her naked form underneath the towel. Jane sighed in appreciation against her neck, his desire reawaken by Teresa's forms; she was a beautiful woman, and even if she was petite, even if she liked to hide her body underneath her conservative and professional clothes, discovering her perfect forms had been a revelation for him. He chuckled: waiting for over two years to have sex again, and denying himself any kind of physical pleasure in that span of time, had been worth it.

"Shouldn't I be the one checking on my phone?" she asked, giggling, suddenly remembering what he had been doing when she had entered the room.

Jane sighed: Teresa's way of checking up with reality had killed the mood for him. He sat back, running his hands over his face. "It was a guy I met a couple of weeks ago. Even though I refused his offer, he insists on meeting up again."

Even if Teresa was a bit sad for Jane's sudden change of attitude- she was definitely liking what he was doing to her – she sat crossed-legs on the couch, and inquired furthermore. She couldn't help it: she was a real detective at heart. But Jane didn't smile: yes, the topic unnerved him a bit, but he liked that she was so curious and wanted to discover everything. He could almost imagine her playing with Clue as a kid…

"It's a police thing. I've been asked to help with a case on a consulting gig."

"Maybe you shouldn't' refuse." She said, her fingernails scratching the skin of his chest. "Have you thought that it could be a good opportunity to get back on your feet?"

Jane groaned, even if he wasn't sure if it was because of the sensation of Teresa's touch or because he didn't like to talk about Delk, Pope and their whole crew that was trying to recruit him.

"He and his assistant chief called me a psychic." He said, and was grateful when Teresa didn't remind him that that had been the part he had played for almost his whole life. "Besides, I am working on your kitchen right now."

Teresa smiled, shaking her head. "It's not even your real job. It can wait." To his ears, her voice sounded like music, peace and harmony.

"Nothing that concerns you can wait." He said, sealing the promise with a kiss on her neck, where there was his love-bite. "But I may have to see him in person, if he doesn't stop calling me. Just because he is a chief of police, he thinks he can order everybody around like he does with his men…" He mumbled. Teresa messed his hair like she did with her own brothers when they were children, but she couldn't resist- Jane was as adorable when he was childish as he was when he went into male worker mode.

Teresa sighed, and looked at the ceiling, lost in her thoughts. "I don't know what's better: being able to order people around, or being able to refuse a job, or an order, just out of principle."

"It wasn't out of principle." He clarified, pouting like a spoiled child. "I felt insulted. Calling me a psychic is like saying that I'm not the one doing the hard job."

Teresa didn't answer, but with a smile she shook her head; but soon the smile vanished, as she saw that, outside, it was getting dark. "Ugh. I really should go and get something done…"

Jane sighed, and encircled her petite body with his strong arms. "Don't."

Teresa sighed in pleasure and contentment in his arms. "Well, I fear you'll have to be more persuasive than this…"

She felt him pouting against the skin of her neck, and the feel made her giggle. "You'll stay, because you want to stay and because I love having you here." He preferred avoiding telling her how much he desired her again; feeling that acting like a caveman wouldn't bring him any luck that night with his lady.

"Still not enough…." The breath died in her throat as he did something with his hand on her most intimate parts, his breath heavy and panting against her neck; apparently, what he was doing to her was affecting him too, as the hard, heavy weight of his desire against her side was showing.

"Then, maybe…" He panted, his lips soft and wet against her cheek. "Maybe I'll show you how to fly."

"Show me." she challenged him with her most resolute voice, turning into his embrace to steal a kiss, one of her hands scratching his chest, the other buried in his scalp.

And he kept his promises-more than once. Hours later, Teresa was still in his bed, while he couldn't sleep. He was walking through his apartment, running his hands through his hair and thinking about what had happened in the last forty-eight hours, his head filled with images of her, Teresa. Just thinking about her set his blood on fire, remembering what a sensual creature she was once she let it go of her identity of a mere cop. She was so much more, and yet she still found it hard to believe. Or maybe, it was much more than that. He was struggling too with his attraction for her- his feelings, regrets and fears and guilt - and he wondered if it was the same for her. They both had a lot of baggage: it was impossible that it wasn't going to influence their choices in life.

He was looking outside a window, contemplating the night empty of stars, when he heard footsteps approaching; he turned, and here there was Teresa, wrapped only in his bed sheets.

"Ehy." He said, leaning against the cold glass with his back, signaling her to join him as soon as he saw that she was checking her phone. She did as he asked, and once at arm's length, he took the mobile and tossed it away, taking Teresa in his arms. "Work can wait." He told her.

"It can?" she asked. She sounded like a child, a bit lost; Jane couldn't help but smile: he loved that he could confuse her in such a way.

He nodded, and taking her in his arms, bride-style, he brought her back into his bedroom.

* * *

Jane could understand that Teresa liked to call her little brother "Tommy": after all, she had told him he was the youngest, so, practically, besides being family, it was like he was her own child too. He could accept it, really. What he didn't accept was that a grown-up man, close to his fifties, _wanted _for a complete stranger to call _him _Tommy.

"Can I get you anything, Mr. Jane?" "Tommy" asked, casually sitting at the table of the small diner like he owned the place. Jane shook his head. He didn't like being there, but at the end, he had been forced to accept seeing Chief _Tommy_ Delk again, and even if tenacity had always been a quality that Jane could appreciate in a fellow human, he couldn't say that he had enjoyed being the victim of the LAPD chief's harassment.

"Tea is fine, thanks." Jane said, his lips in a straight line.

Delk filled his cup, and then smiled, his hands crossed under his chin, and stared at his companion. It was the kind of situation that in the past, Jane had often found himself in; only, usually, he had been the one at the other end of that look. "I'm happy you accepted to see me, Mr. Jane." the African-American cop said. A part of Jane wanted to shiver and run away: he felt like a pray, and Delk the lion ready to eat him alive.

"I accepted only because I wanted to make sure you understood I'm not interested." Actually, Teresa had insisted that he met the man: after all, in the last five days she had spent in his bed, Delk more than once had interrupted them. Besides, she saw it as a sign of respect for a fellow cop: _just tell him to his face, Jane._

Delk nodded. "Yes, in being my "psychic consultant." He said, with air quotes. "But I was wondering, what if I doubled the price?"

Jane lifted a perfect blonde eyebrow, laughing under his teeth. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Ok, if that's how you want to play it…" Delk paused, leaning against the back of his chair, his arms crossed. "I'll triple it."

Jane closed his eyes, exasperated, and took a big breath. He didn't want to make Delk mad and get an enemy, but the man didn't want to get his point: he wasn't interested in that job, period. Even if the first offer alone had been huge. "Listen, if you _really _want a psychic- even if I can assure you there is no such a thing, I can recommend someone. Sean Barlow, I can get you in touch with him, or if you prefer someone more spot-light oriented, there's always Kristina Frey."

But Delk just grinned, shaking his head. "I'm not interested in them, Mister Jane. I'll be honest: what we are dealing with is a delicate internal affair case, and I want the best that there is." He paused, gesticulating with his palms in Jane's general direction. "And from my research, _you _are the best."

Jane couldn't help but laugh. That man was so full of himself… almost like Jane himself. "If you want me…" Jane started, and Delk stopped him.

"And I do, Mister Jane…"

Jane snorted, and then restarted from where he had been so abruptly interrupted. "If you want me, you'll not get a psychic."

"And that, Mister Jane, is what I want. So, you tell me you are just an observer and a knower of the human soul? It's fine with me, because, let's be honest: why would I need a charlatan con-man too busy to steal the money of the People of California to actually stop a crime syndicate?" Saying so, Delk smiled, and offered Jane his hand to shake. "I guess we could now discuss a serious offer…."

"And just for the record, Tommy, I knew you were bluffing when you offered to triplicate my salary."

* * *

Half an hour later, after two failed attempts at calling Teresa, Jane was back in his apartment and decided that, if there was someone else who deserved to know about the offer, it was Danny. The little guy had always been a fan, had never had bad words for his brother-in-law after what had happened to Angela, and Jane guessed it had a lot to do with their similar experiences while growing up, and the fact that both of them had always had time-consuming jobs once they left the carnie world.

"Wow. That's the most unorthodox way of getting business I have ever heard of, but…" he whistled, Danny's young voice filled with mirth. "Congratulations, bro. When do you leave for the city of Angels?"

"I haven't said yes, yet." Jane replied, smiling. He was pretty sure that, at the other end of the phone, Danny was either rolling his eyes or cursing him. "Why should I move to Los Angeles, when my home and my family are here?" Yes, he was the first to admit that money was starting to lack, but he didn't need a job that desperately. After all, in Sacramento he had his in-laws, Danny, and then, Charlie and Angela. If he wasn't there, who was going to talk with his late wife every week? And mostly… how could _he _miss his weekly chat with her? He wasn't sure he was ready yet to let it go of his past so completely. In the last two years he had always had this thin line connecting him and his beloved; leaving now would be like cutting it. Could he do it? Free himself from his obligation?

"Paddy, it's a five hours drive." Danny sighed, and Jane knew that the boy was rubbing his eyes. "You could always get back on the weekends."

Jane sighed. Yes, it was true, but Teresa too was in Sacramento, and what was going to happen to their blossoming relationship if he decided to leave? He had started that "game" not to win her over, but because he wanted to teach her a lesson, and yet… yet, he had been the one to lose. Because Teresa had become something so much more important than what he had predicted, and he wanted her, all of her, all the time.

He needed her. He needed to talk with her, to know if he had been a fool or if there was a chance for him, a chance for _them. _

"Danny, I need to go." He ended the phone call, and headed in the general direction of the capitol building; next to it, at the CBI, he knew that it was where he would have found her


	10. Chapter 10

Thanks to each one of you guys, following, favoriting and leaving reviews, you are the best!

* * *

Almost a week of sleepless nights spent in Jane's arms (and bedroom) were starting to have an effect on Teresa, and in fact, on Friday, she didn't hear her alarm ringing; it was a phone call from one of her co-workers, Steve Hannigan, that brought her back to the world of the living, with the news of a local case.

She jumped as soon as she heard his voice, and started to get dressed with whatever came her way, not bothering too much with her hair. She run out of the door hating herself a tiny bit: Hannigan was older than her- and a man in a male-dominated work environment- and even if older than her, they were both on the same level. She knew that he had never liked her too much; Hannigan had never made it a secret that he believed the police to be a men only business, but with Teresa it was even worse. When a rumor had gone around the previous year, that she was involved with her married superior, Samuel Bosco, she didn't have any doubt that Steve had been the one spreading it. She had even thought about filling a complain, but she knew it would have backfired, and she couldn't risk it, not now that her promotion was that close.

And now, she had done _this_, overslept because of her nights filled with sex; it was the opening that…that _bastard _had been looking for lately, and she had served him this opportunity on a silver plate. But she was going to make up for this: and in fact, in less than fifteen minutes she was already at headquarters, right before Cho's desk, her eyes fixed on the murder board.

"Ok, what we've got?" She asked, her eyes focused on the words written in black ink and on the DMV picture of a middle-aged man who had been murdered that very morning.

"Matt Ellis, 45, engineer. He was killed in front of Braxton City bank this morning. Found dead on the crime scene for a puncture wound to the abdomen. Coroner says that probable cause of death is blood loss. We are still looking for the weapon." Cho said, not bothering to leave his desk.

"Ok…." Teresa said, a bit skeptical, still looking at the info she had on the crime. She felt like she was missing something. "And we've got this because…" she asked, her arms crossed and her eyebrows reaching her hairline. She was starting to get pissed, and she was having a bad feeling about it.

"The FBI normally handle cases involving banks, but as there's no evidence that it could be a robbery gone wrong, they stepped aside." Van Pelt, the young and pretty redhead from her team joined them, checking on her tablet the details she had acquired on her own. Teresa shook her head at the sight, almost missing the times when cops used only a pen and a notebook when on a case, but she guessed that times had changed since she had first joined the Academy. Besides, not only Grace was their tech expert and hacker extraordinaire, but she had also paid on her own for her upgraded piece of equipment, so, who was she to judge?

"By the way, boss, I talked with a guy on the scene, he said that he saw some kind of altercation between the victim and another man. He gave me a description, and I was thinking that maybe I could check with Ellis' family and friends, see if the description rings any bells."

"Ok." Teresa continued, hands on her hips. She turned on her heels and walked in direction of Hannigan's cubicle, ready to give him a piece of her mind. She had a feeling that this "important local case" he had made sure she was going to work on was nothing more than crap. They already knew where, when and how, and they even already had a description of the responsible. This case was open and closed, and she was pretty sure it was going to be nothing more than two guys arguing over their wives or their favorite football player.

He definitely wanted her out.

"Ok, Steve, what the hell?" she asked him. She didn't cross her arms, didn't put her hands in her pockets, and tried to remember what she had learned about being a "bad cop". She didn't want to show him what a nightmare he was being, and she didn't want to ruin her good mood. She and Jane had been spending together over the past few marvelous days and nights; after Monday, she had been forced to take a break from him, due to the job, but now she couldn't wait for the weekend to start again. It was both a scary and thrilling sensation: she knew she liked a tad too much being with him, that it was almost unhealthy the power he held upon her. And she didn't even know where they stood, what they were for each other.

But at her question, the man just put his hands behind his head and he flopped down on his chair, his feet on his desk without even an hint of respect for Lisbon. "What can I say, Lisbon. Braxton is one of Sacramento's most prominent banks…" _It's a lie and you know it, you idiot, _she thought, but didn't say it, because she was better than that. "And, you know… better safe than sorry, right?" he grunted, trying to pass it as a laughter, and she smiled of a polite smile, that thigh line that everybody knew to be fake.

She came back to her cubicle, and started to work on the case; before she could even realized it, it was midday, she hadn't grabbed a coffee yet and she had already solved the case, and was going to start working on her report. She couldn't help but smile: the sooner she finished, the sooner she could be out of her office, and in Jane's arms.

And then… then, the magic was stolen by reality, aka her phone ringing, showing an ID she knew all too well, a name she had practically forgotten about in the last few days: Ray.

"Ehy, I saw you got a case. Homicide at Braxton, right?" he asked, without as much as a hello. She grunted at the phone and hoped that Ray hadn't heard it, but really… technically speaking, they were still dating (sort of), and he couldn't even start a conversation with "Hi". God, what a man. Has she really been that crazy about him?

"Yeah, nothing exceptional, it was open and closed." She made the mistake of sighing over the phone, and Ray immediately jumped to conclusions. Obviously, with Ray being Ray, he thought about work and the case; it didn't cross his mind that it could be himself the problem, or Teresa's hot neighbor.

"Ehy, something's up with the case? Your voice is so strange…"

At the other end of the phone, she blushed. "I'm just tired, that's all. I've been working on the case since I arrived here today, and I haven't stopped since."

"Yeah, I know…"

Teresa closed her eyes. Yeah, she was sure he knew, after all, he was in her same line of work. But the problem was that he _really couldn't _understand, because she wasn't down because of the job, but because of guilt. She had a weight on her heart, and she was going to have it until she wasn't going to get clear about the whole thing between her and Jane. Part of her wanted to tell him there and then, but she didn't think it was a conversation you were supposed to have over the phone; besides, she and Ray had knew each other for quite a while, and she felt like she needed to show him at least some respect. But what could she tell him? _Listen, Ray, I am oh so sorry, but I can't keep my hands off my neighbor._ She shook her head. She didn't know where she and Jane stood, but she couldn't ask Ray to wait for her, she needed to get clean and tell him that she was with Jane.

Even if "with Jane" was such a strong and strange word; they weren't in a relationship, but she knew she was behaving like she was in one; her feelings were the same from her youth: she was overwhelmed, unable to resist him and yet scared of let it go. As soon as she saw him, she wasn't herself any longer, she couldn't remember who she was and what she was supposed to do with her life.

"Well, anyway, I hope Minelli will not keep you too busy this weekend. I made a reservation at the Firehouse."

"Sure!" she exclaimed, sounding too cheerful even to her own ears. She hoped that the tables at the firehouse were quite big, and not small and romantic; a secluded alcove wasn't exactly the best place for the kind of conversation she was planning of having with her soon-to-be ex.

She hung up, and then went back to work, and sadly she had to discover that the afternoon was even crazier than the morning. She worked on the Ellis report, then she had to get back to old cases, then Ardilles called her, and asked why his office hadn't received a report on some case she couldn't remember word by word in that instant, and his authoritative tone almost made her snap.

"Agent Lisbon? Supervising Senior Agent Minelli is asking if you could send over the McAllister report…" Carla, Minelli's secretary, asked. Lisbon hated that woman, she was just a good for nothing bootlicker who had gotten her job by sleeping around. She wasn't even a real secretary, and she wasn't supposed to be that happy when someone was behind with their work- nor did she need to use "Supervising senior agent" every time she talked of Minelli. She didn't even really liked her boss: everyone knew she was sleeping with Hannigan, waiting for the day he would get promoted to get a raise.

"Tell him it's on my hard disk and I'll send it over in a few." _Yeah, sorry I didn't have time to send an e-mail, but today I worked the whole damn time I've been in this building. _

Carla vanished, but less than half a minute later, someone knocked on the wall of her cubicle; Teresa didn't even bother to lift her eyes from the screen, she just snapped, her fist hitting her desk and her voice sharp. "I told you I was going to send it ASAP! There's no need to come and check on me twice in a minute!"

But then, she lifted her eyes, and right before her there was Jane, smiling, as sensual as sin itself. All the female eyes of her office were staring in his direction, and even a few men were quite taken by such a fine specimen.

"Is this a bad time?" He asked, and first she nodded, then she shook her head as she saw the peace offering, a boiling cup of dark coffee.

"I'd normally ask you what you are doing here, but you came bearing coffee…" she said, her voice soft and almost dreamy in its quality; Jane couldn't help but smile, because as far as he was concerned, Teresa Lisbon was a real softie. "So you'll be forgiven."

She grabbed her coffee, and Jane sat opposite to her, chuckling. "Didn't I tell you that I could read your mind, woman?" He leaned in her general direction, offering his lips for a kiss, but Teresa put her hand between them.

"Not at the office, Jane!" she all but squealed. "But, thanks for the coffee. I'll make sure you'll be properly thanked. At the right moment." She looked at him with intent; but, with the corner of her eyes, she saw Minelli's secretary looking at them. That woman was gossip made flesh: in a few hours, everybody was going to know that she had been cheating on Ray.

Damn it.

"So… what are you doing here?" She asked, drinking her coffee as naturally as possible. She tried her best to block out the sight of her coworkers trying to listen to what she and mysterious hot guy were saying, but it was hard. The fact that she wasn't completely at ease with Jane there was palpable, and the tension between them could be cut with a knife.

"I need a motive to come here and see you?" he asked. It was almost a rhetorical question, but just the fact that he had to make it was breaking his heart. A dark shadow covered his features, darkening his eyes that lost their usual brightness.

_Well, technically, as I am on the job… yes, you'd need more than "remember to drink coffee, Lisbon" to come and see me. _"I'm sorry; it's just that, I'm behind with my schedule and…"

"Ehy, Lisbon, Minelli asked about the McAllister report, _again." _She gulped down a mouthful of saliva as Hannigan stood at Jane's side, grinning like a sordid pig. He gave a look at Jane, dressed with a plaid shirt, old jeans and old, ugly brown shoes, and checked him out. "He told me to ask you to send it over. If you don't have nothing better to do." He lifted his eyebrows, and his eyes stayed on Jane.

"Yeah, well, it's not a problem, I was leaving anyway." He sent one last look at Teresa as he stood, hoping that she would talk, say something, defend him, _them_, but one look told him enough, and he knew in that instant that in her mind she had already decided to be the Teresa Lisbon he had met that day, many weeks before.

"Oh, please, don't leave on my accord, Mister…" Hannigan kept on, his cruel and amused smile, victorious. What was he hoping to accomplish? So, ok, she had had a little indiscretion, but it couldn't be that bad, right?

"Jane." Teresa said, standing up. "Mister Jane just wanted to drop an estimate on some works I want to do in my apartment." The lie left her lips before she could stop herself from opening her mouth, and as soon as she saw Jane's face she knew she had made a huge mistake.

The light was completely gone from his eyes, and he all but seemed lost.

"And here that I thought that everybody had emails nowadays…" Hannigan snorted.

"Well, you know, Miss Lisbon is a special case, and I don't have a big enterprise." he said, cold, turning to leave. "Anyway, now that I'm done, I'll leave Miss Lisbon to her job. I know how important it is for her…"

"Jane…" she whispered. She thought about stopping him, telling him she was sorry, explain, but she didn't want to do so in front of Hannigan. "I'll give you a call this evening and…"

But he stopped her, shaking his head. She hated the expression he had on his face, for he looked disgusted by her. "There's no need to, Lisbon. The situation is already clear to me."

"Lisbon, Minelli wants the McAllister report!" Hannigan grunted.

"Yeah" she told him, looking for the file on her computer. She looked at Jane's retreating form, and promised herself that she would have talked with him that very evening, that she would have told him how sorry she was.

That, if he was going to listen to her ever again.


	11. Chapter 11

So sorry for the delay, but real life and then lack of internet got in the way... but today I finally managed to get the new chapter out for you!

* * *

That day, between Minelli, Hannigan, the Ellis case and another investigation her team had been handled, Teresa didn't got home until it was well past midnight. From the street, she saw that Jane's apartment was dark, so she guessed that he had gone to sleep or maybe was watching one of those documentaries he was so fond of. She decided to not disturb him: she was sure that with few hours of sleep he would be more accommodating, and the next morning she would be able to tell him how sorry she was over a cup of tea.

The next day, though, he didn't show up; Teresa heard him closing the door and hurrying down the stairs, and the sobs died in her throat when she was left alone at her kitchen island with two cups of tea in her hands. She shook her head, a little exasperated. If he wanted to play it like that, so be it. She wrote him a note and left it underneath his door, telling him that she was going to get back home in a few hours and that then they would have speak. Unfortunately, she met Brenda, from PR, and the woman started telling Teresa all the latest gossips about their director, resulting in the cop arriving over half an hour later than what she had told him.

"Ehy" she said, the breath dying in her throat as she got closer to him, who was standing right before her apartment. "I'm glad you got my message."

Jane crossed his arms, and his burning glare almost physically hurt her. "I've been waiting here for over thirty minutes." He simply said, empty and cold. Gone was the man she had met weeks before, busy flirting with her that nothing could stop.

"I've met a coworker while I was out, and….."

"Figures." He snorted. Ignoring his attempt at sarcasm, Teresa went to sit on the floor, at his side. Even if he was rolling his eyes, Jane mimicked Teresa's position, but looked away. She was keeping her eyes closed, breathing in his scent, tea and mint and just man. A small smile was gracing her lips: a clear indication that she had missed him.

"You better hurry if you want to explain to me what you meant in your office yesterday. I'm busy and I have an appointment."

Teresa shivered, clearly shocked. "You're still upset."

He snorted. "Oh, I don't know. Do you think that I'm allowed to be upset, as you introduced me as your contractor to your boss… or whoever the guy was?"

Lisbon closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. She took a big breath and stood in silence for few seconds: she didn't want for Jane to get upset, or for herself to say things she would get to regret. "Jane, you _are_ working on my kitchen. Technically speaking, you _are _my contractor." She paused. "And Hannigan isn't my boss."

"Nice," he said, more to himself. "Didn't remember that to sign a contract you are required to have a few rounds of sex before."

"Jane, it was more or less a…" She moved her hands frantically, frustrated with herself, with Jane, with Hannigan and the whole damn world. "It was more or less a joke what I said."

He turned to face her, dead serious. "Hilarious, Teresa, really."

Something trembled inside Teresa's chest; looking into his stormy eyes, she knew that things weren't going as she had planned. She had thought that just a couple of words would have set things all right. That they would have joked about it and ended up in bed drinking red wine directly from the bottle with Jane telling her that it didn't mean she was an alcoholic, but now she knew that whatever she had done, in his eyes was terrible and not easily forgivable.

"Listen, if you are upset that I introduced you as my contractor, I'm sorry. I made a mistake, all right? Let's forget about it and move on." She said, her eyes closed, pinching the bridge of her nose. She was tired, of everything, but Jane didn't seem to want to have any of it, and as he stood, he just shook his head, hands on his hips, an expression of rage and disillusion printed on his beautiful features- it was such an hard contrast that it almost made her sick. "It's just that… you both took me by surprise. And… you didn't even tell me why you were in my office."

"You know what?" He told her, his arm stretched before him to stop her from advancing furthermore as he saw her standing too. "It doesn't matter."

"It does!" she told him, trying to get closer to him but failing, the plea written all over her face. "I know I made a mistake, but try to understand me. What should have I said?"

"The truth!" he all but screamed, pointing a finger at her, accusingly; he lowered his voice as soon as he had said the two words, and he said them again, his eyes almost glassy with unshed tears. "You could have said the truth."

"Jane…" she said, her eyes still closed. She took a big breath, trying to think, but her mind was empty: she didn't know what to say, how to defend herself, because, truth to be told, she couldn't. When she had seen Jane, all she had thought about was protecting her privacy, because she didn't want for her co-workers to discover she was sleeping with a former carnie-raised con-man.

He had probably understood what she was thinking, for after a glance he shook his head. "I thought you understood I wasn't that man any longer." she tried to take another step, but yet again he stopped her. "I don't need for you to say the words, to know that you were ashamed to be seen with _me. _Because of what I was. Because of how I grew up." He snorted, and it broke her heart more than her father had ever done.

"No, I am just private. I don't like mixing work and my private life, that's all. I don't like my coworkers knowing too much about what I do outside the office because I know they would spend their time maliciously talking about me behind my back, and you shouldn't think that…"

"Well, you know what, Teresa? I am such a good cold-reader, that when you didn't introduce me as the man you are dating, I thought that you were ashamed of _me_!"

"Because I'm not screaming to the whole wide world that we have a relationship? Forgive me if I'm trying to keep my private life _private!_" she screamed through her teeth, moving her hands around so frustrated she was.

"Ok, so, let me get this straight: you aren't ashamed of me, you are just a very private person. Is that what you are trying to tell me?" He said, calmly, but his eyes told her he was feeling the exact opposite. She hated that aspect of him, that even when he was mad, he was so damn controlled. She could never really read him. For him, everything was either a joke or dead serious, there was no grey zone.

Teresa closed her eyes, and took a big breath, and again she pinched the bridge of her nose. She was tired. She didn't know what else she was supposed to say, she had tried everything, and everything had failed. Maybe… maybe a bit of truth wasn't going to hurt, right? After all, it was what he wanted. "Jane, Hannigan never liked me, and do you have idea how dangerous… and… and poisonous gossip could be in my line of work? I am a woman, Jane, in a male-predominant world. A woman with a good position. In charge of many men. One wrong word… the smallest mistake… a wrong step…. And I'm marked. For life."

Jane leaned against the wall, shaking his head. He was almost laughing, but there was nothing funny about it. Only, he was wondering why he hadn't seen it coming, how he could have missed it.

"Oh, I see. This about that famous promotion that is in the air, right? And I'm not good for your image of workaholic…" he said the words like he was disgusted, which wasn't far from the truth. He shook his head once again.

"Don't be childish, Jane." She said, her fists closed tightly, her knuckles white.

"Childish? Me? No, my dear. I'm not the one who can't understand that there's more to life than a damn promotion!"

"Of course! It's better hiding your head in the sand!" she replied, vexed. "Oh, Mighty Jane, please forgive me if not all of us can afford the luxury to hide in an old apartment because we are scared of the future! We common mortals have to keep living and go to work every damn day!"

It was a low hit, and they both knew it- something that Jane didn't appreciate. "What are you trying to tell me, Teresa?"

She shook her head, and went back in direction of her apartment, her arms crossed. "Nothing, all right? They were just words." But she meant the world. Only, she didn't feel like psychoanalyzing him right now. Too many things were being said, and she knew that they would get to regret them all.

"I'm not hiding. I made a decision. I changed my life. And you know why." He calmly said. His low and controlled tone told her how much he was angry, how much she was hurting him in that moment. But she didn't care. Somehow, the seal had been broken, and she couldn't keep it inside any longer-despite wanting to. "I just don't want you to come to regret your choices, like it happened to me."

"No, Jane, you don't understand… you can't ask me to… to throw away everything… all my hard work… so many years spent in the Force… for… for a fling!" her tone was so vehement that Jane actually gasped, his eyes wide open in shock and surprise.

"That's how you see it?" He asked, his tone so low that it was almost a whisper. His eyes were fixed on the ground, so that she couldn't see them, but she immediately knew that, despite her best efforts, she had just shattered a piece of him.

"Jane… how can I know what you want, or what this is?" she shook her head, and her eyes fell on his left hand. When she spoke again, her voice was resigned. "I know that, I must be important, if you choose me to be the first woman after your wife, but… but you even still wear your wedding ring. And don't tell me it doesn't mean anything."

His eyes fell on the old wedding band, and his memory went back to the day Angela had put it on him, after having bailed Danny out of jail. He had never took it off, ever, and the thought of doing just so saddened him to no end. It make everything more final, made his guilt so much stronger.

"There's always a risk in every relationship, and sometimes…" he took a big breath, and then lifted his eyes once again, staring at Teresa. "sometimes we have to take baby steps."

But Teresa shook her head. "I'm sorry Jane, but I can't risk any longer." she paused. "Try to understand me."

He got closer and closer, his eyes were still teary, but he was still hopeful. She didn't want to risk for nothing but maybe, if he gave her something…maybe, just maybe… "What if I asked you to risk it? What if I took off my wedding band now, and asked you to tell your friends and coworkers that we are together?"

The hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention. God. Few of the people she worked with, and for, wanted for all cops to live for the job alone. And besides, it wasn't just that: Jane was, well, Jane, with his shady past and everything. Ardilles would have killed her, saying that she was painting a target on her back, that everybody was going to doubt her and so on…

Jane took a big breath. "It's ok, Lisbon" he said, using her surname, something he hadn't done in a long time and that broke her heart. "You made your choice. And we'll both have to live with that."

"Jane…" she said, as he started to walk away. He couldn't ask her something like that, couldn't tell her that she was supposed to make a choice, because really, there was no choice to make. She had worked too long, too hard to get where she was, she was finally respected and well-seen. She couldn't ruin it all because of an adventure, a story without a future, something she hadn't programmed and was in no way ready for.

"Jane, wait, where are you going?" she screamed as he was already at the front door, many floors underneath her. She run and run and run, and almost got hurt on the stairs as she caught up with him.

"I'm going to the cemetery." He simply said, walking in the street without turning to look at her.

"Jane, we need to talk." She told him as she walked at his side. He was a quick walker, but she was well trained and in shape, and it wasn't a problem at all for Lisbon.

"We talked, Teresa. I asked you to tell people about us, and you said no. There's nothing left to say."

"I didn't say no!"

"Nope. You hesitated, which, let me tell you, is way worse than a simple no."

She shook her head, hands in the pockets of her pants. "Jane, I could be promoted. And if… and when it will happen, it will be a good thing! And then we could discuss telling people!"

He shook his head, still walking, still refusing to face her- he didn't see why. She had already set her mind on this, after all. "You don't get it."

"No, _you_ are not getting it." she told him, a finger accusingly pointing at him, mid-air. "You don't get how hard and difficult it had been for me, getting where I am today. There's much more going on here than you and your huge ego!"

Ego? He blinked, unable to believe what he was hearing. She thought it was all about him and his ego, she didn't see the slightest problem with herself. "Yeah, you are right." he simply said, and then, he moved to stop a passing taxy, leaving her there, alone. Like she seemed to want to be.

Once inside the taxy, he just couldn't stop thinking about what had happened and what she had said; he felt like hitting something- or rather, someone- but he knew it was nor the time or the place for destructive behavior. He leaned against the seat, and covered his face with his hand, feeling engulfed by void and nothingness. But after all, what was he supposed to do? Teresa wasn't going to put him first, and he couldn't accept to be second best, he was too proud for that.

But, he didn't know if he could live in a limbo either, being that close to her, and yet being denied her touch, her smile for the rest of his life. The mere thought of her, moving on with her life, finding someone to love, scared him more than anything: he didn't know if he could have survived looking at her getting married, having children, a family and a life that wasn't going to include him.

So, really, there was only one thing left to do, he thought while looking at old calls. He pressed the re-dial key on his mobile, and wondered if, in few days' time, she was still going to call him a coward.

_My family would have wanted that. And Teresa, she will not care. _

* * *

On Saturday, Teresa managed to go through her routine at almost light speed, and she blamed it on the lack of noise; the building was quiet, _too quiet _for her own taste. She wasn't used to that any longer; the noise had filled her life, a sweet reminder of Jane's presence at her side. But now, it wasn't like that any longer.

Once again her mind traveled back to their last conversation, still unable to process fully what happened and exactly what he wanted from her; he had been apparently heartbroken when she had described their relationship like a mere fling, but yet, she still didn't know where they stood. She knew only one thing. She didn't want for things between them to end- not like that, at least.

Shaking her head, she decided that she would talk with Ray, and then with Jane, trying to calm him down, to make him see reason; with that in mind, she called her "ex", and he immediately jumped at the idea of more time with her, when she asked him to come over earlier, breaking furthermore Teresa's heart. Ray was a good man, and he didn't deserve what she was going to do and to say- especially not when he had believed that they were probably going to spend the rest of their life together.

Ray arrived over half an hour later, and she was still shaking; it took all her willpower to not run away and hide, but that, despite not being her style, wasn't something she could do. Now, it was time to take action. But when she opened the door, Ray sent daggers though her, and he seemed everything but understanding.

"Shorts? Teresa, I know it's still early, but if we want to make it to lunch at the Firehouse you'll have to…" A sudden movement stopped Ray from saying more, and he turned; from the stairs, Jane had just emerged, with his usual Saturday grocery shoppers. "Oh, ehy neighbor. Is everything all right with the tube?"

"Yeah, I've already installed it" Jane answered, grim, his eyes on Teresa, as he shook hands with Ray, trying to make the experience as painful as possible for the other man.

"Teresa told me you are working on her kitchen." Ray started as they finally parted. "Do you think you could talk her into remodel the whole apartment? I've been trying to talk her into it for years, but she doesn't want to listen to any reason. At all."

"Yeah, well… you know Teresa. She always needs a plan." He replied with mock cordiality. "And she likes to stick with them."

"That's not always true!" Teresa quickly replied, getting in the middle of the conversation, her eyes fixed on Jane. "In fact, I wanted to see you this evening, and discuss about some new plans I'm working on."

"Ah, well, I fear you'll not be able to count on me. My plane leaves in a few hours." He paused, turning his attention to Ray. "I've accepted a job in Los Angeles."

She looked at him, stunned. She knew that he had been receiving offers, and he had talked about the LAPD being particularly insistent, but he had never mentioned that he was actually going to accept. She didn't know what to do, so nothing more than a barely audible "oh" left her lips.

"Yeah. The LAPD made an excellent offer, and there's nothing that keeps me here any longer."

"Oh" she repeated. She couldn't believe it. Jane was leaving. No more shared cups of tea and coffee in the morning, no more passionate encounters in random places, no more sweet nights spent in his bed, spooned by him. "Are you sure that there's nothing left here for you?" she asked, taking a step in his direction.

He looked at her, deciding that there and then that it was her chance of making it right, at fixing things between them. _One last chance, Teresa. _"I don't know, Teresa. Can you think of one reason, one alone, that could keep me here?"

She opened her mouth, trying to tell him that yes, there were so many reasons for him to stay there. Danny and his parents, who still loved Jane, his wife and daughter's graves, his apartment, and… _her. _But she couldn't say so; she couldn't break Ray's heart by saying that she was breaking up because she had cheated on him with Jane, besides, Jane was finally moving on: who was she to stop him?

She opened her mouth to say something, what, she didn't know, but Ray was quicker, shaking again Jane's hand. "I guess you'll still have few things to do, so I think it's better if we let you go."

"Yeah" Jane simply said, looking at Teresa and trying to read her. "Goodbye, Teresa."

"Jane…" she stopped him, her voice low, but it stung like a tornado, moving him in ways he had never thought possible. He turned, and the plea died in her throat. She couldn't stop him now: it wouldn't be fair to him. "Good luck, Patrick."

"You too, Teresa." he went back to his apartment, and he had just entered when Ray chuckled and made himself comfortable in Teresa's place.

"God blessed! Now you'll finally stop to think about that guy and concentrate again on more important things…" he said, patting the space on the couch next to him, while Teresa still stood by the closed door, her eyes were focused on him, and she wondered how she had missed it all. It wasn't like he didn't know about her and Jane, he just didn't care too much about it.

"You know Ray, I think you should leave." She said, opening her door and keeping it open for Ray. "Because I'm not sure I'll be able to forget about Jane so quickly."

"But… I reserved a table at the Firehouse…" She looked at him like she was seeing him for the first time. She had practically admitted her relationship, told him she couldn't forget about Jane, but he seemed more hurt by the fact he was going to show up alone at the restaurant when he had booked for two. Ray got closer and closer to her, and looked at her like a disappointed parent would his child. When he tried to touch her, she took a step back, and shook her head.

"Yeah, well, I fear I'll be too busy with my dirty fantasies about "the guy" to be hungry." And saying so, she pushed him out, and closed the door at her back.

* * *

Work and cleaning kept her occupied for the whole weekend, and for that, Teresa was grateful, because having her mind filled stopped her from running to Jane every time she thought about how they had ended things. But after all, what would have changed? She wasn't ready to accept him in her life, and Jane didn't want to be part of her life in a marginal way. Sighing, she realized that it was better if she started to consider him a momentary distraction; a marvelous, unexpected and sensual distraction that had lasted for a few incredible days, but now it was time that it stopped and that everyone returned to life at it was supposed to be.

So, on Monday, she got dressed, applied make-up and smiled at herself in the mirror, hoping that the world would see a woman who was sure in her own skin, and not one who had cried herself to sleep because the man she was probably in love with had left because she hadn't accepted his ultimatum.

When she reached her office, immediately Minelli's secretary approached her and told her to join her superior and Director Bertram in the man's office. Taking a big breath, she took off her jacket, left her purse at her desk and followed the older woman, hoping that it was what she thought: the air had been electric for days, as rumors of Minelli's early retirement after his new relationship had hit the grapevine at the CBI- and she and Hannigan were the top candidates.

Staying calm, she walked through the double glass door, and saw her two superiors sitting behind Minelli's desk, busy reading files. Drying her sweating palms on the back of her trousers, she cleared her voice and knocked on the glass to make her presence known.

"Ah, Agent Lisbon. Please, take a seat." Bertram offered her, showing a chair in front of Minelli. She did as she was told, and she and Minelli exchanged a gesture of salutation with their heads, nothing too formal- after so many years spent working together, it was the last of their needs.

"Let's skip the pleasantries and get to the point" Bertram cut short, his fingers interlaced over his belly. "You've been a precious member of our agency for years, Teresa, and we've all learned to appreciate your dedication and despite your methods not always been so… orthodox, we can't deny you've always produced excellent results."

She started to shiver and feel butterflies in her stomach. Oh God. It was happening. It was happening for real. "I'm glad I was given the chance to join the CBI."

Bertram smiled, nodding. "As you know, Minelli will leave us in a few weeks, and after a careful discussion, we've decided that you'll be the one to take his place."

Teresa stopped to hold her breath. Finally, after all the hard work, after all the late nights, early mornings and skipped weekends, they were taking her in proper consideration. Despite her age, her sex and her past. Being almost on top of the food chain felt good- just, not as good as she had always assumed.

"Thanks you, Director Bertram. I'll not betray your trust." She stood up, and smiled politely as Bertram shook her hand.

"I know you'll make us proud, Teresa." Minelli said, with a little smile. Despite everything, he was a good man who worried about his people, and he cared for her like he would have his own child.

"Good." Bertram cut in, giving her few documents and many files. "I hope you'll not mind, but I'd like for you to start as soon as possible. Minelli will not be with us at the next balance meeting, so I'd like for you to join us. There are few things I'd like you to read and consider before joining the rest of the council and the other heads of departments…."

"Of course." She nodded, deciding that her moment of glory would have been postponed to the next available weekend.

She worked all day at her desk on the files Bertram and Minelli had given her, and when she went back home, late at night, she found a tube right before her door. She cautiously inspected the object from afar, knowing that she could never be too careful given her line of work, and once decided that it didn't seemed like a risk, she took it and brought it home. She opened the cylinder, and emptied it on her coffee table, discovering that it contained few sheets of paper; one was the project she had worked on for her kitchen, while the other one was hand-written, with Jane's elegant handwriting, and it contained the names of few contractors in the area. Names and numbers, and nothing else, not a word, not a goodbye, just the list.

Suddenly, she didn't feel like celebrating any longer.


	12. Chapter 12

New chapter, yay! It os shorter than usual, but you'll see there's a lot happening, emotion-wise... Many of you are unahppy with Lisbon, right' Well, I hope this will bring you one step closer to forgive her...

* * *

Over one month later, Teresa was coming back home on a late Friday night, after a whole week spent in San Francisco at a conference between heads of departments of different CBI offices; like every weekend, her eyes fell on Jane's windows as soon as she left the taxy, and like almost every weekend, she found the blinds closed and the lights turned off. After their "fight" he had come back from Los Angeles only once, and for the whole two days, he had avoided her like the plague, changing his routine so drastically that she hadn't even been able to get a glimpse of him.

Shaking her head, she entered the building, and tiredly she went back to her own apartment. Once inside, she didn't bother to bring the suitcase in her room, abandoning it in the entrance, and started to undress, leaving the clothes where they fell; half-naked, she skimmed over the surfaces of her apartment, the dark wood Jane had insisted she was supposed to keep, and wondered how it was possible that things had changed so much in so little time. When she had first moved in, she had loved the place, found it perfect; now, as much as she was happy to be back, those walls didn't feel like "home" any longer. It was just a house- one she wasn't so sure that could make her as happy as she had dreamed before.

Without getting dressed, she went to sit on the couch, and hugging her knees she stared at the sheets of paper on the coffee table; they had been there since she had found them in front of her door, and she hadn't been able to move them, nor call anyone from Jane's list of contractors. She knew it was stupid, because, unlike him, they were professionals and because she trusted his judgment, but having someone working on her kitchen who wasn't him, it felt wrong. Besides, she wasn't so sure she still wanted to actually get her kitchen done.

She sighed as she undid the ponytail, her raven hair cascading on her shoulders and her chest in soft, natural waves. Closing her eyes, she touched her breastbone, on the point where her heart was, and wondered if that pain she felt whenever she thought of him was eventually going to disappear. She shook her head, fighting back tears, fearing that Jane's memory would never abandon her. There was always something, even small things, that kept brining her back to him. Like in San Francisco, when a guy she was talking to had taken a turquoise cup and started drinking tea, and she had almost had a nervous breakdown there and then. All because he had gotten under her skin, in her heart, her mind.

She was so lost in her thoughts of him, that she hadn't even noticed that she had taken her phone, but as soon as she understood what her subconscious was asking her to do, she called herself names. It was stupid: she didn't even have his number, because since they had met, all she had to do when she wanted to talk with him had been knock at the door next to hers.

And now… Now, Patrick Jane wasn't the guy next door any longer.

Slightly annoyed with herself, she threw the phone on the couch, and wondered what she thought she was doing. Yes, theoretically speaking, she did know where he was working. But even if she had decided to call the LAPD, and even if he had wanted to talk with her, what did she think she was going to tell him anyway?

_I just wanted to tell you that, well, I miss you. _

_Jane, I know I didn't show it enough, but, you are always in my mind._

_Please, come back here. To me. _

But she knew she couldn't. Yes, there was the matter of her pride, and that she still didn't know where they stood, but she still thought it wasn't fair towards him; it had taken Jane more than two years to get over the guilt of his family's passing, she couldn't bring him back when he was finally starting living again, when he was doing what he had always been great at, in a way that didn't make him feel like a fraud. She couldn't stop him now, get him back there with her and risk that he would fall again in the tunnel of depression and guilt he had spiraled into for too long.

He had been able to move on. She wasn't so sure she could say the same about herself. It wasn't just the fact that she couldn't move past her brief relationship with Jane; it was the fact that even if she had gotten promoted, nothing had changed for her. She was still Teresa, daughter of an alcoholic with the dead mother, and she was still a woman in a male-dominated world, still under-considered, still the object of evil and mean gossip. Only, now she worked mostly in an office, she didn't work cases that much and yes, her pay was better, but the hours wore worse and the burocracy was killing her.

So, yeah- getting promoted had meant turning into a bureaucrat, a sad, tired bureaucrat who needed to take a long, warm, bubble bath and then sleep for as long as possible.

_Just few more years. _She thought, eyeing from afar the alcohol cabinet. _Then you'll be able to retire and buy an house by the sea and spend there the rest of your days. Or maybe, you could move back to Chicago, get your old home back and show everyone who you've turned into. _

But as much as she had always craved those things, now she believed them unimportant and didn't feel free or relieved by the possibility of either of those futures: because all she wanted was to have a turquoise cup on her table once again, filled with hot tea.

The feeling persisted on the next day; she woke up without any energy, nor the will to get any work done despite knowing she had to. She just couldn't get anything started, it was _too quiet. _She had despised Jane's continuous hammering, and yet in the last few weeks she had not gotten anything done on the weekend because she had come to need the noise to concentrate.

She groaned, arranged her hair in a messy ponytail and put on her running gear, hoping that the fresh morning air could help her; besides, she needed the exercise, after weeks spent sitting in her office or at conferences.

She started to run, mindlessly, and without really noticing, she got to the flea market where she and Jane had gone that one time. She stopped running, with a small smile on her face, and walked across the different vendors, between the crowded space, trying to remember faces and names that Jane had introduced her to that Saturday.

Wondering here and there, she reached the nice lady who sold vintage clothes, and without being aware of it, she started looking through the racks for the red dress. The nice lady was busy talking with some costumers, schoolgirls who were looking at dresses probably for prom, and the cop decided that, if she could still look for her dream dress on her own. After all, how hard could it be to find what she was looking for? And yet, as much as she rummaged through the gowns, the dresses and the jackets and coats, she couldn't find it.

"Can I help you with anything?" The nice lady said, appearing at Teresa's back like from thin air and making the cop jump. Teresa closed her eyes, a hand on her heart to calm her raging heartbeat.

"Uhm…" Teresa started, at loss of words; but the woman's smile was kind and reassuring, and soon she started to talk, suddenly at easy. "Last month I came here with a friend." Teresa said, blushing. "He was talking with the guy from the stand next to yours, about some lamps."

The nice lady nodded, a strange light that Teresa couldn't really explain appearing in her eyes. She guessed it wasn't so strange, though; Jane was definitely the kind of man who left an impression on people, especially if they were females- it really didn't matter if they could be his mother or even his grandmother.

"Oh, yes, the man with the blonde rebel curls." The woman said, her eyes turned dreamy. Teresa lifted an eyebrow, now one hundred percent sure that that light in the woman's eyes had indeed been caused by the memory of Jane's appeal. "Such a handsome man. I saw him around here quite often."

Teresa smiled, but a bit uneasy. Yes, she had already been in love with handsome guys who were front and center in the fantasies of other girls, but she had never been in the position of being believed to be the lucky girl to hold their hearts in her hands, like the lady seemed to imply with her looks. It made her blush like the Catholic Schoolgirl she hadn't been in quite a long time, and she really didn't know how to answer to that. What was she supposed to say, that she and Handsome had broken up? She wasn't really in the mood. She knew women like that lady, and she didn't feel like being patted on the back and pitied because a relationship was over. It definitely wasn't her style.

"I don't know if you remember, but you had a dress on display, it was red with white polka dots all over, halter style and with a white petticoat…" Teresa started, hopeful. Maybe the dress simply wasn't there, who knew.

The lady nodded, her eyes wide open in recognition. Teresa was again hopeful: who knew, maybe… maybe there was still hope.

"Yes, I think I remember it… it was an original vintage, and yet it was in excellent condition, right?"

"Yes!" Teresa exclaimed, more and more hopeful by the second, but then, she saw that the lady saddened, and she understood that her little dream wasn't going to get true.

"I'm so sorry, I sold it few weeks ago. But…" the woman said, looking through the ranks with expert eyes. "If you like the genre, I have something similar in black?"

But Teresa shook her head. "No, I was just… I just wanted to see if the red dress was still here, I guess."

"You know," the lady said, her eyes a bit sad, but wise and deep. "If you find something that you want, you have to hurry up, or you could lose them once and for all."

_Right, _Teresa thought to herself as she said thank you and started to run back home. As the breeze hit her and reddened her fair skin, she shed few tears. She couldn't understand why the dress had been that important, why she felt like she needed to have it. When she felt that the air was burning her lungs, she slowed down, and as she walked between the crowd, she saw blond, rebel curls in the distance. She got closer and closer, sure that it was Jane, that he was back and that she finally could make things all right between them, but a brunette approached him, kissing him on the neck, and when the man turned, Teresa realized that she didn't know his face.

She closed her eyes and turned around, but on the way home, Teresa couldn't forget the lady's words, as she repeated them again and again in her mind like on autopilot.

_If you find something that you want, you have to hurry up, or you could lose them once and for all. _


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: this week... the last two chapters! There's just the epilogue aftis this one, and I should be able to put it on the site in a couple fo days. In the meanwhile, I'll answer to the reviews I haven't answered to yet... so sorry, but life is... yeah, life.

(btw: the reviewers who asked me what "ehy" stands for...it stands for "hey". Apparently, bot me and my beta-reader forgot it's not universl :p)

* * *

"So, how's life in dear old LA?" Danny asked over the weekend, while they were eating at their usual spot. As always, Jane wasn't too famished, but in the last few weeks many thoughts had crossed his mind and kept him from concentrating on his own well-being; thankfully, others had dedicated themselves to him. Even if he still had troubles accepting it.

"Ah, you know, the city that never sleeps…" he answered with nonchalance, playing with the food like he was a moody teenager. Which was exactly how he felt, especially for what concerned matters of the heart.

"Isn't that New York?" Danny asked, quizzically, just to shake his head soon afterward. He really didn't care. After all, he had lived in Los Angeles too, knew the city and disliked it enough to prefer Sacramento. He didn't care if people often believed LA to be the capitol city and if even the Governor's wife was rumored to prefer the Stars' city; he loved there and then. "Anyway, how's working with the LAPD as a proper consultant and not a conning psychic?"

Jane sent an evil glare in the direction of his friend/former brother-in-law, and grunted something to himself; Danny, despite his many talents as a former con-artist himself, didn't get it, and somehow he felt relieved. He guessed that, whatever it was, it couldn't be nice. The blonde stood in silence, and then, looking around to avoid having people eavesdropping on them, he whispered something to Danny.

"I'm starting to freak out." He admitted, not knowing how serious he was. "My direct superior, Deputy Chief Johnson, is from the South, you know, those Belles, Gone with the wind kind of women?" Danny nodded, already laughing under his breath. He wondered how it was possible that that kind of woman was deputy chief of police. Surely she couldn't be a badass, not when all he could do was imagine a Scarlett O'Hara kind of woman, dressed like a little, young shepherdess from an old Easter postcard.

"There's nothing to laugh at, Danny. That woman _feeds _people! She gives them… sweets and….food for the soul and…all those huge southern dinners…" He paused, looking in front of himself a little scared. "And then, here she is, interrogating a suspect, going all CIA on them, and you _can't _tell her you don't want to have dinner at her place and with _her whole family, _because once you've seen her interrogating a suspect, and manipulating them into saying whatever floats her boat… and, all the other things she does to get the job done… you've been scarred for life, all right?"

Jane sighed, and Danny looked at him, shaking his head. "All right. So, you don't want to talk about it…" he said, reassigned.

"About my boss? No! I want to sleep at night!" Not that he actually got any sleep at night, but the little he did, he didn't want to talk about that sweet, and yet rather scary, woman.

"Ok…" Danny sighed, but immediately stopped as Jane sent him another deadly glare. It was obvious he wasn't thinking about his boss, but if the consultant didn't want to talk about what was going through his mind- aka a certain brunette with green eyes who happened to be a cop -so be it. Maybe, if they kept talking, sooner rather than later Jane would talk about her on his own accord. Because if there was something that Danny had gotten from years and years of therapy with Dr. Sophie Miller, was that keeping it all inside wasn't good. The younger man started to play with his drink, the rays of the sun shining through the semi-full glass. Jane stopped to eat, and turned to look at his "relative", busy looking outside the window. So many things had changed since they first met. Danny wasn't any longer a carnie boy birthed and raised on the road. He had a proper life, a job, a family of his own, he wore expensive clothes that he would have never dreamt about in his old life. But sometimes, just sometimes, his eyes betrayed a troubled childhood. Expressive eyes- just like Angela's.

"Mum wants to get back to Europe." Danny said, a bit absently, and Jane nodded. He knew that Mary Margareth Ruskin was British, and had always wanted to get back home one last time before dying; she wasn't getting any younger, and her daughter and grandchild's death had been the last straw; she had never been the same since, but lately, Jane knew she hadn't been well. He always knew: Mary Margareth, Daniel and Danny had always been family. Even after what he had done. Even with all the pain he had caused Angela with his behavior and his inability to leave completely his old life behind after they escaped the carnival.

When Patrick didn't even nod, Danny leaned closer to his brother-in-law. "Ok, what's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing's wrong." Jane answered, sending himself to hell mentally. He had just made the stupidest mistake that he could have done in his line of work: he had repeated Danny's sentence. He knew that he should have never done so: it was a clear indicator of a lie.

"Ok, so, first, you repeated my sentence, something that, as you told me many times, is indication that you want to build in me a false sense of security and trust. Which, in short, means that you are lying. Second, I feel for those poor fries you are manhandling."

Jane looked at his plate, where, indeed, his fries looked much more like mashed potatoes. "It's about my neighbor. Well, actually, my ex neighbor…"

Danny suddenly smiled, his eyes huge, like he was hit an idea- he probably only missed the huge bulb on his head. "Oh, right, the one who complained about the noise… what was her name?" he paused, for dramatic effect, like he didn't know what he was talking about, or that Teresa Lisbon had been the center of Jane's thoughts since that faithful day. "Teresa, right?"

Jane sighed. He should have never taught Danny about the memory palace.

Jane looked around, then scratched the back of his head. He really didn't feel like talking about this with Danny at all, but they weren't just family, they were friends, and Danny had been the one to always push him to move on, to find a woman to love and have a family, now that he was still young. "I was kind of… dating her. Before moving to LA, I mean."

Danny looked at him like a little puppy, but he didn't seem too surprised. "Oh, God, Annie was right. You behave like a kid with the girls you like." He shook his head, amused. "How you annoyed her with the noise, it was practically the grown-up version of grabbing her pony-tail."

Jane shook his head, amused, glad to be able to talk to Danny face-to-face again. It wasn't just that he had missed him in LA- he had missed him after Angela's death. The three of them had always been friends, and even if after her passing he had kept in check, he had always kept a part of him locked away. But now, now somehow they were back to square one, and he felt better, more free, less guilty.

"So, what happened?" Danny asked, and Jane, after a brief hesitation, recalled the last events. He talked again, about when he had first met the cop, and told Danny about how their relationship had developed, from tentative acknowledgement to a sort of friendship to something much deeper. Until she had practically thrown him out of her life. "So I decided that you all were right and it was time to move on, or, come back to origins, or whatever, and I accepted Chief Delk's offer."

Danny sighed, looking at his warm beer, shaking his head. "Wow. I guess it hurt pretty badly, uh?"

More than Jane would have thought possible, given what he had been through. It felt like someone, namely _Teresa Lisbon, _had pulled his heart out of his chest, stepped on it and then kicked it, stating that they hadn't been in a relationship but just a few rounds of sex, and that her life, and her future, was with Ray Haffner and that her career depended on Bertram's opinion of her and what people at the office said of her life.

He had believed that time (and space) was going to heal all wounds, but he should have known better: the more time passed, the more he missed Teresa.

"But, can't say I don't understand her, though." Danny added, and sighed as he saw Jane's lifted eyebrows. "Listen, I know she shouldn't have behaved that way, but there are jobs that request all of you. That need you to be, well, completely _clean. _And if her career in law enforcement is that important to her…"

"Important? Her job is her life. It's everything. She even dates within the job!" he almost screamed. Danny could hear the frustration, and he was sent back in time, when they were all teenagers, and Patrick was only a friend, begging for advice because Danny's own sister didn't want to date him.

"Listen." Patrick said, his hands covering his tired eyes. "I never asked her to let go of her job, or her career. I just…" he paused, and sighed, feeling as defeated as ever before. At some level, Danny knew that Patrick had always accepted Angela and Charlotte's deaths, that a small, rational part of his brain had acknowledged right from the start that it wasn't his fault. But this, this was something he had never seen on his friend's face before. "I just wanted to be on the same level with her job. I wanted to know that…" he paused, and for a second, he shone, even if he was teary. "I wanted to know that I was as important to her as she was to me."

Danny Ruskin had always been a male- even if people tended to assume he had a very prominent feminine side – but he had to admit that Patrick's admission of love for Teresa (a woman who wasn't his sister) was moving him to tears.

"Can we change subject?" Patrick asked, the food cold, and the tea wasted. He didn't want to keep talking about Teresa, and how stupid he had been, thinking back to the day he had decided to sort of admit his love for her.

"And here I thought you had it bad for my sister…"

Jane sighed, and shook his head. Yes, bad didn't even start to cover how he felt for Teresa, but he couldn't compare his relationship with Angela to what he had briefly had with Lisbon: he had been a different man back then, just a boy. What he knew was that he had always felt unworthy of love, and even if he still felt so, damn him if he didn't want Teresa nevertheless. She was everywhere, under his skin, in his mind and heart. He missed her smile, her warmth. He had been tempted tons of time to just pick up his phone and call, beg for another chance, but at the end, he had always been too proud. Or maybe, too smart.

"I should have gotten it from her first note." Jane mumbled, quite annoyed with himself. He sighed, and shook his head; he felt like hiding behind his hands once again, but he was sick of Danny's amused grin- he was still a man with his own pride, after all, and there was just so much teasing he could tolerate.

"Teresa, she is so frail, Danny. She is though on the surface, but she just wants to find someone who would swear to protect and save her from anything and anyone. But she is too scared to admit it, even to herself." He paused, shaking his head. His eyes were sad, full of longing and regret. "She thinks that if she allows people to see the real her, they'll judge and underestimate her. She doesn't understand that I'd never judge her for this. It's…it's the reason I _love_ her, that she can be so frail, and yet so strong."

Suddenly, Jane smiled a little smile, and almost laughed to himself. Here, he had said it out loud, confessed his love, admitted that he could feel once again that emotion that he had believed lost to him after Angela and Charlotte's loss. But Teresa had showed him that he could be twice blessed in his lifetime, that moving on was right. That day, holding her hand before his wife's grave, had opened a sea of possibilities, of new chances for him.

And yet, he had lost them all. All because he had believed it was possible to change her, even if just a little bit.

"And you want to know what's ironic? I tell _her_ that she is scared of commitment and getting hurt by someone she loves, and _she _tells me that I am the one scared! Me!" He didn't dare to say more about the subject, but when he lifted his eyes to look at Danny, expecting the young man to agree with him, he saw that his companion couldn't meet his gaze. And there was just one reason for Danny to do so: he agreed with Teresa. "If I were scared of moving on, or whatever you think, I wouldn't have accepted the job in LA."

"Jane, I didn't say that…" Danny defended himself, lifting his hands in surrender. He hated being on the wrong side of his former brother-in-law.

"I didn't move to LA to forget Teresa, all right? I was just sick of listening to everybody telling me that I had to move on and stop feeling guilty!" But even to his own ears, the excuse sounded lame. The truth was that he had done exactly that: he had moved to LA because he didn't want to see her any longer, and this sudden understanding hit him like a mace. Angela had always been right: he was a master with the others, but he couldn't understand himself, couldn't read people when he was involved too deep with them, their lives too interlaced.

"Paddy, Delk and Pope had tried to lure you there for over two years, and then, suddenly, after you meet her, and you tell me she kind of left you, you accept the gig? Sorry pal, but you've been the one telling me things such as _coincidences don't exist_ and _everything is connected" _Danny suddenly paused, and lowered his voice, his tone and his look serious. "Patrick, I'd love for you to have gone there because you've stopped feeling guilty for what happened to Angela and Charlie. But we both know it's not the truth."

Jane focused his eyes on the food, because he didn't have the strength to face Danny. He was right: he had started to forgive himself, but there was still a lot to do before he could reach his destination. Besides, he felt the fear of falling back into old habits would be there, at his side, forever, and that if he would returned to that man once again he would remember what had happened, return to that empty road once again. And this time, maybe, for the rest of his existence. With Teresa at his side, he would have never return to that man again. He knew it.

"Listen, Patrick, either you accept the truth- that it wasn't your fault- or you decide that you are guilty until the end, and face life with your head high, and start being happy again." Danny paused. "If you were ever happy to begin with."

Jane smiled. Yes, he had been, for few instances every now and then, but he had never really had time. As a child, he had never understood the meaning of the word because of his father, and after he and Angela had eloped, he had been too busy with his "job", making money so _his family_ could be happy and carefree, he had been too blinded by fame. And then, there had been only regrets, fear and guilt. Things he had been able to leave at his back for just a matter of days, when he had been in Teresa's arms. But now that ship had sailed, and he was still on the land.

"Have you ever thought about talking with her?" Danny asked, and Jane lifted his eyebrows, like to ask who Danny was talking about. "In case you were wondering, I'm talking about the two-headed elephant in the next room." He paused, and shook his head when Jane still looked at him oblivious. "I was talking about Teresa, you idiot. Listen, we agree on the fact that you love her and you miss her, but have you thought about the fact that if she feels the same, and she is scared, maybe, just maybe, the distance made her realize how much you matter to her. And if you don't talk with her…" Danny didn't end the sentence, he just opened his arms wide in invitation, and then crossed them over his chest.

Jane stared at him in disbelief. He knew that Danny was, well, a nice person, but that he could be _that good, _it was a strange knowledge. Maybe he had underestimated him, but if he had been wrong about Danny, and if Angela had been right about his inability of reading the people he cared the most about, maybe… maybe… He grinned, amused. "Your sister was right. Underneath that con-man façade, you do have a heart of gold."

He left his seat, and kissed soundly his former relative on the cheek. And then, he run out of the bar: he had an angry little princess to win over.

* * *

Like she had done many times in the last few weeks, once in her apartment, Teresa sighed and fell, exhausted, on her couch. She didn't care if her clothes were a mess and if she was sweaty, after all, that was how Jane had liked her the most, and Jane…

She lowered her head in her lap. Jane was in LA now, and she had lost something so precious to her, before she could even realize it. Just like the red dress. Now all she could do was moving on, and learn her lessons for the next time.

_If _there was going to be a next time. She had never fallen so quickly and so much for someone before, and she was scared that history wasn't going to repeat itself. She had been crazy in love with him, and she would have probably been in love with that special, crazy man until her last day on this Earth. She shook her head. She was an idiot, and on top of that, she was a lone idiot who missed the love of her life. Missed him like the air she needed to breath. Like life itself.

She heard the door next to hers closing with a sonorous _thud_, and remembered that it was Saturday: Jane had probably arrived later that night, if he had once again came by car. She stiffed and thought back to her youth. What did she use to do when she was sad and depressed, back in Chicago? She cried, alone in her room, in silence, or she ran, and ran and ran and ran once more, until she wasn't so far from home that people didn't even know who she was.

Closing her eyes, she decided that yes, now it was time to run, but not away, not to escape; she jumped on her feet, and ran _to him_, knocking at his door with her heart in her throat. She was going to talk to him, open up and like hell if she was going to allow him to retreat or close the door in her face like that very first day.

But nothing happened. No one arrived to open the door she was knocking so impatiently on.

She sighed and fell on the floor. She had been so sure it had been him, when she had heard the steps and the sound of the door. But she decided that she wasn't going to give up yet. Patrick always returned on the weekends. It was just a matter of time. She was going to wait for him where she stood.

Unless... unless he showed up with a woman. God. That would have been embarrassing. She stood, and decided to go back home and make a plan, but then she remembered that her damn plans had put her in that hideous predicament, so she decided that her best plan of action was to stay there and wait for him, no matter what. She had gone back to sit, when she saw with the corner of her eye that someone had approached her apartment and was about to knock.

And that someone, as beautiful as always with his stubble, with his wide shoulders, strong arms and deep eyes, opened in surprise, was Patrick Jane.

_Her _Patrick. How did she trick herself into believing that she could go on without staring into those pale blue pools every day? That she didn't need him in her life?

"I couldn't find the dress any longer." She said with teary eyes when they were just a few feet apart; when she saw he didn't understand her, she went on, until there was just a foot between their bodies. "I went back to the flea market, but someone had already bought it. The saleswoman told me that… that if you find something that you want, you have to hurry up, or you could lose them."

"Teresa, I…." he said, shaking his head. "I don't understand." But he did, oh, he really did. But Teresa had been right: he was afraid of this as much as she did, and even more so, because on top of that, there was also the guilt of loving again.

"I just, I didn't know, Jane." she said, shaking her head, sobbing slightly. "Back then, I didn't know what I do now. I think you are the red dress. But I had to spend so many hours alone in that huge office before I could understand what I really needed. And it wasn't getting Minelli's position. When I got my promotion… I didn't feel any of what I thought I was going to. It didn't change me."

"You made it?" he asked, sweetly; she nodded, and he added his congratulations. He was really happy, even if he hadn't thought it possible; after all, hadn't that very position destroyed any chance at happiness they ever had?

"No, just… don't say it. I'm always alone, and I spend my time either in my office doing paperwork or in Bertram's office in budget meetings. And when I finally get at home…" She paused, taking a big breath, her eyes in his own ones. "It's not the same thing."

"Oh, Teresa… I know, dear. I know." He admitted, diminishing the space between them once again.

She nodded, her eyes glassy with tears. She hadn't opened up that way to anyone in such a long time, but with Jane, it felt right, like she could be herself and be safe, finally. "I moved here, bought this apartment, because I wanted to forget my past, I wanted to have something that I lacked when I was young. I wanted to have a home, but, I didn't know…" She sniffed, and paused. "It had been a home only with you. And now, when I come back, I dream of drinking tea in the morning with you, of arguing because my freezer is filled with frozen food and I never cook. I want to take a bath in your tub while you sit on the floor and tell me that I am crazy because I don't appreciate enough old things."

His eyes shone in the dark of the corridor, as glistening as her own. "For real?" It wasn't really a question. Now, he knew what he was supposed to look for. Now he could, finally, read her, fully.

"I've been blind to not see it before. I don't care about your past, Jane, or what you want to do with your life. I just want to be with you. Because…" She paused, and took a big breath, looking for the courage she knew she had, hidden in her heart. "Because I am in love with you, and I know it's crazy and I don't know how it happened, and I don't know what you feel and what it means for you, but I love you and I want a second chance with you and..." he stopped her rambling, mid-sentence, silencing Teresa with a peck on the lips. When they parted, his eyes were dark, full of desire and the need of having her, at his side, forever, and there was a plea in her gaze. She cupped his cheek, enjoying the sensation of the stubble, something she had always loved on a man. "Please Patrick. I don't want to lose you. Do you want to be mine?" she asked in a low, soft voice. A voice that he couldn't believe belonged to strong, determined Teresa. And yet, here she was, opening herself up to him. Being real, for once.

Jane didn't answered, and even if he had kissed her, Teresa wondered if it hadn't been to just shut her up. Maybe it was too little. Maybe it was too late. She didn't know, didn't understand, and without wanting it, she started to cry without any control, sobbing in his vest.

"You were right Jane, I should have understood it sooner. But please, give me another chance, and I promise you that…"

Once again he silenced her with a kiss, bit this time it was so much different, not just a peck. He slammed her against the wall, and Teresa wrapped her legs around his hips; he supported her weight with a hand on her ass, the other on her side, grazing the underside of her breast. Her hands never stopped running in his glorious hair, grabbing it forcefully. They kissed frenzied, a kiss of need and abandon and coming back home, like water of an oasis in the middle of the desert.

They finally parted, their foreheads touching, their breathing stressed. "I love you too, Teresa." He admitted. He took a moment to calm his breathing, then, seeing that she was still looking at him, in silence, he went on. "I wanted to tell you that I had enough of making mistakes. That I was ready to fight for the woman I am in love with."

She put a finger on his lips. "Jane, you don't…"

But he shook his head. "No, let me finish. You were right. I was too proud, and, I don't think I didn't want to fight for you because of the guilt. It was just an excuse. I was scared, Teresa, of losing, again, someone I cared for so much. It was easier to pretend it was just fun. But it's never been about it."

"Oh, Patrick…" she sighed, nuzzling his neck, her eyes closed in bliss. "We were both scared. I still am…" She confessed, but she didn't shiver: in her admission, there was strength, and hope.

"I know, and I am scared too, love. But I am done with hiding."

"And I ready to risk my heart, now." She said, her lips smiling against the rough skin of his neck. He shivered in desire, remembering how she felt around him.

"How could I not love someone who writes me using words such as_ cease_ and _desist_?" he asked, remembering their first encounter, when he had desired her just like that, wanting a woman for the first time after two years of celibacy. "I wanted you from the start, Teresa. Even when you believed that I was stealing your water."

She laughed, the marvelous sound reverberating through his skin, through his whole being. He had forgotten what happiness felt like- and now he knew once again, and only because of that sound. "I think I'll never accuse you again of such a crime."

"Yeah, well," he said, taking her in his arms and walking the distance to his door without grace. "It would have been hard anyway, as we'll share our water from now on."

He kissed her again, sweetly, while Teresa looked for his keys in his pants pockets, and opened the door, still in his arms, like a new bride. "So… what do you have in mind?" she asked, her voice husky with desire and full of mirth- just like he liked it, like he had always thought it should have been.

"Something romantic." He said, serious, with love in his eyes- the same love he could read in her eyes. A love that she had been finally ready to admit, and that had probably always been there; they had both been through a lot since her days in Chicago and his troubled youth, and right now they were in different cities, but she didn't care. They had come so far: she was sure that they could do it.

_No, _she corrected herself, as she left her head on his chest and felt the steady rhythm of his heart to lull her to sleep after so many restless nights, feeling that there, in _his_ room, she was finally at home. _We'll make it. No matter what. Whatever Jane's plan is._


	14. Epilogue

A/N: the epilogue! Thank you for sticking with me for this amazing ride, to all the guests and the signed reviewers who left me know what they thought, and to kathiann Superwoman who gave me an great hand: she cheered me up, helped me out, betaed the story and made awsome arts!

* * *

"Are you sure this is the point?" Teresa asked, looking at the wall with her hands on her hips. At her side, Jane stood, with a huge hammer in his hands. It seemed too big for him, and despite the fact that she knew he was… fit, he was still having few troubles; just this made being with him worth it.

He nodded, with his usual cat got the canary look. "You sure you want to do it?" She nodded, and went to sit on the kitchen island. Her naked little feet didn't reach the floor, and they were swinging mid-air. As soon as she had gotten back home, Jane had "high jacked" her plans with a passionate encounter in said kitchen, so now she had clothes scattered all over the floor, and she was dressed with just his unbuttoned shirt, while he was parading through the apartment in jeans and undershirt- still too much, for Teresa's taste.

"Teresa, you don't have to do it." he asked, and yet she knew what he really meant. He was saying something with his voice, and yet his eyes were pleading her to take this step. "You can still think about it." Jane was gulping down saliva, and Teresa wondered if he knew that he looked like a lost puppy- or that his eyes were betraying him yet again.

"Nope." She shook her head, and once again she joined him, hands crossed at her back. "No more long-time plans. Just here and now!"

It was quite a new development, and it hadn't been completely her intention, to be honest. But after she and Jane had made peace, they had somehow worked out a new sort of routine for the time being, that had transformed furthermore after he had showed her how things worked out when _he _was the one making schemes and plans.

Jane had worked as a free-lance consultant for the LAPD Major Crimes Unit for a couple of weeks, closing eight cases- a personal record for the department- included a very problematic internal affairs situation. Then, thanks to Captains Raydor and Johnson and Chief Delk's recommendation (and a little trick- even if getting the hated agent Hannigan to hit him and mentioning suing if they didn't allow him on a case hadn't been that smart, as Teresa didn't talk for him for the longest two days of his life) he had been able to get a consulting jig at the _CBI_ Major Crimes Unit- Teresa's unit. Jane had thought that it would have been easy, and yet, it hadn't been- it still wasn't, even now that he had been with them for over six months. When he did something crazy or stupid (which happened daily) it was Teresa who paid, but at least, if at the beginning it had unnerved her, well, as soon as she started to see the results, she decided to stop caring about long-term consequences. Maybe her record was not any longer spot-free, but she already had the highest close case rating of the whole CBI- and Jane wasn't wearing his wedding band any longer, which made her feel so much better.

"Jane, either you move your ass or I'll do it!" she said, grunting. "C'mon, you've been the one suggesting it!" She pouted like a child, and Jane sighed. He wasn't sure what he felt for that pout- all he knew was that it forced him to do as she wanted, as it stirred sensual memories and desires in his whole body. Memories and desires… and hopes.

"Ok, Ok, here I come." He said, sighing, lifting one hand in surrender. But Teresa knew he wasn't serious, there was fun and laughter in his voice, something that had always been there, from the start, with her. But now that he was _always_ with her, the mirth was back in his whole life, and he had started to smile a lot more, even when he was with other people, or when he suddenly remembered his family. Loving again- and talking with Teresa- had gotten him to understand that there was much more than that last call he didn't answer, that last fight, there had been many happy years, filled with love and good memories. What he had to concentrate on if he wanted to honor the lost ones.

"Ok." He said, and took a big, huge breath as he lifted the hammer and hit the wall with as much strength as he could. Teresa closed her eyes, and she kept them closed when she heard a _thund_, followed by another and another and another more; only when she heard the sound of falling rubble she opened them, slowly.

"Can I look? Move?" she asked, carefully. She didn't dare to fully open her eyes and move; she had been the one to tell Jane to go on with his crazy plan, and yet, here she was, scared, and for more than the obvious reasons.

"Be careful where you put your feet!" Jane screamed, his hands on his hips, the hammer on the ground. Teresa joined him, careful of where she put her bare feet, and looked at what they had just "discovered". What Jane had told her about the secret passage had been true, and in fact here there was, the proof right before them, that the apartments had been linked a long time before. A wall had been erected in each apartment, masking the passage, but right before them there was an arch that covered almost the whole high of the wall. So far, it didn't seem to have anything to do with the building's architecture, but Teresa took it as a good sign; it was something completely different from the rest, and yet, it worked, just like her relationship with Jane.

Teresa smiled, imagining the rest of the walls abated, the arch dividing- and uniting – the rooms. It was going to be too big for just the two of them, but she knew that Jane was already making plans to put the space to good use- she did too, she just hadn't told him yet. She would be happy to have a guest room or two, a place where she could host her brothers, or her niece Annie on occasion. Jane had mentioned something along that line too, but he had also explained to her that there was still a couple of rooms that could find better use than mere storage; he was thinking about building her a small office, so that she could work at home in complete tranquility, and then… Then, he had dropped a bomb that had scared, and yet thrilled, her.

_"This room would be perfect for a nursery..."_

He had been shy and worried when he had told her, and Teresa knew that it had been his own, particular way of telling her that _One day we should get married,_ but she didn't care. Her heart had stopped beating, the breath had died in her throat, and then, even if she had always wanted to be alone, even if she had never wanted to have a man in her life, fearing that he would become like her father because of loss… suddenly, everything made sense. She had kissed him on the corner of the lips, with a simple "_Yeah, I can see it already_" to set things straight.

And now, here they were, the two of them, working together at the CBI, and living together in the huge apartment they were going to create around what was left of their old homes.

"It's perfect." She said, smiling a little.

"Yes, he answered, kissing her neck and nuzzling her soft skin. "It really is." Just like the white polka-dotted red dress that she had almost tried that day at the flea market.

And that _he _had bought before leaving for Los Angeles. For her, and her alone.


End file.
